An Open Heart is An Open Wound
by TheGladElf
Summary: Captain Swan AU: What if Emma met Killian before she met Neal? How would that change things? If it changed things at all. Cursed!Killian AU. Sort of.
1. Chapter 1

_November 2000_

The slamming car door jolted Killian Jones from his nap.

Not any car door, mind you, his car door. His car door that was attached to the car he'd stolen only a day before. Also the same car where he had been napping in the back seat. Carefully, Killian opened an eye, wary of how the newcomer would react to finding him in the back seat. He caught a glimpse of a leather jacket and a long, blonde ponytail as the woman in the front seat jammed a screwdriver into the ignition.

Oh, this was going to be interesting.

The woman started the car in record time, cranking the screwdriver and zooming off still completely oblivious that Killian la curled up in the back seat.

"I'm impressed, love," Killian said, sitting up. The woman screamed, eyes wide behind her glasses. Killian ducked out of the way of that long blonde hair as she wrenched around to face him. "But really, you could have just asked me for the keys."

Grinning, he dangled the keyring by her ear.

She seemed to have trouble deciding whether to keep those green eyes on him or on the road. Oh he liked her, gutsy enough to jimmy the car window and easy on the eyes as well.

"Just drive, love, it's fine." Killian patted her on the shoulder, causing her to jump and the car to weave as they pulled into traffic.

"I just stole your car. Your life could be in danger," she said, the low pitch of her voice doing nothing to hide the slight waver.

He chuckled. "Killian Jones," he said, leaning against the seat and propping his chin on his right hand.

"Yeah, I'm not telling you my name." Her voice held steady this time as she eyed him through the rearview mirror.

"I shan't need it to have you arrested," Killian said, "when the robbery is still in progress."

The woman glanced black at him. He recognized the look on her face. It was one he'd gotten many times since he came to this realm several months ago. He flashed his winning smile.

"Emma," she said. She pressed her lips tightly together. In a tone so soft he might have missed it if he wasn't leaning so close, she said, "Emma Swan."

"Swan," he said, letting the name roll around his mouth. "I like the sound of that."

Emma tensed, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on the road. "So, do you just live in here or are you just waiting for the car to be stolen?"

"Well, that's a tale that should be told over drinks, don't you think?"

"Excuse me?" She whipped around to look at him, blowing right through a stop sign.

"Eyes on the road if you don't mind, Swan."

A horn beeped at them as Emma's attention returned to driving. Thankfully, the other driver had been paying more attention than she had.

Both hands on the steering wheel, Emma said, "I am not having drinks with you. You might be a pervert."

"Aye, I might be," Killian said, "but you, lass, are most certainly a car thief. Done this often, have you?"

"I said I was sorry."

"Actually, you didn't, love."

Behind them, a siren blipped. Emma cursed. Killian's eyes shot to the red and blue lights flashing in the rearview mirror. Terribly cheery, he thought, when in his limited experience those lights always meant bad news. He groaned.

"That's why I said eyes on the road."

Emma pulled over, her hands steady on the wheel.

"Screwdriver," he muttered, handing her the keys and stashing the offensive object in the pocket of his hooded sweater.

The thud and crunch of heavy boots approached from behind them as Emma slid the key home. "License and registration."

"Hi," Emma said, her voice bright and innocent as she flashed an apprehensive smile up at the officer. This lass possessed nerves of steel.

Killian managed not to laugh as he leaned forward. "My apologies, officer," he started, plastering chagrined smile on his face. "This is my car, actually, I'm trying to teach my girlfriend how to drive stick."

The officer raised an eyebrow, tossing a look down the street. "She's got a lot to learn," he said, turning back to Killian.

"Aye, that she does," Killian sighed dramatically, "but women, mate." He grimaced, pulling his expression into one of long-suffering patience. Emma's glare drilled holes into his skull, but he studiously ignored her.

The officer pressed his lips together, nodding slightly. "Alright, I hear you. It's a warning…this time."

"Thank you, officer."

The man tipped his broad-brimmed hat to them and strode back to his car.

Killian sagged in relief. That was a close call of exactly the kind he that he had no time for. He'd already wasted enough time getting acclimated in this realm, the added difficulty of avoiding the authorities would only complicate his search further.

Emma turned on him. "What are you? Some sort of misogynist."

Shoving the seat forward, Killian opened the door and slipped into the front seat.

"I don't know what that is," he said, "but you're welcome. Now, let's go, Swan, we got lucky."

Emma reached for the keys, her hand freezing half way to the ignition. "We?" Her face lit up.

Killian bit back a groan, she had to be a quick one.

"This isn't your car either, is it?" A grin spread over that lovely face, lighting her eyes up. "I stole a stolen car."

Killian returned her smile, couldn't help it really. Oh, he definitely liked her. And it had been quite a bit of time since he'd enjoyed the company of the fairer sex, perhaps he did have the time for a distraction or two. Especially if the distraction was as pretty and blonde as Emma Swan.

"Now how about that drink, love?"

Emma scoffed, but she reached for the keys anyways, starting the car.

# # #

By the time he directed her to a more secluded spot, Killian was rethinking his plan.

For one thing, despite the too old look in her eyes, Killian suspected Emma to be much younger than she let on. If she was a day over twenty, Killian Jones would eat his boots. And twenty was generous, he thought, as she sat next to him on the park bench, her bag settled possessively in her lap.

"I think you said something about a drink," Emma said, staring him down even as she fiddled with the strap of her bag.

"Aye, that I did," Killian said, pulling his flask out his pocket. He popped the cork, taking a swig of rum. "Though, now that I've got a proper look at you, I'm starting to wonder if you're of age. I know this realm frowns on…" He searched for the word that he'd seen plastered on the convenience stores. "Minors imbibing liquor."

"This realm," Emma asked, brow wrinkling. "And what realm are you from? Neverland?"

Her question knocked the breath right out of Killian, a red flag rising in his mind. Had Pan sent her to check up on him? There was no other way she could possibly have guessed that. Not with his hook carefully stowed in the other pocket of his hoodie. Before he acted—jump up and run really, that was always your best bet with an agent of Pan's—Emma laughed, swiping his flask and lifting it to her lips.

"Ugh, what is that?" Emma scrunched her nose up. Quite adorable, really.

Adorable was not a word he felt comfortable applying to his distractions. Ravishing. Gorgeous. Enchanting. Those were the words he used for the women he used. Adorable was for children and for lazy mornings spent teaching someone you loved how to tie sailor's knots. Emma was decidedly the former.

"Rum." He reached out, plucking the flask out of her grasp. He considered walking away right then and there, getting in the car and driving until Portland and this woman—girl, really—lay far behind him, but her eyes stopped him. This might not be Neverland, but he could recognize a lost boy no matter the realm. Or lost girl, as the case may be.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Just pretend we're back in the mother country. I hear eighteen is the drinking age over there."

"Mother country?"

"Great Britain? The U.K.?"

"Ah, yes," Killian said. He'd heard those names bandied about a few times when he met people. "The accent."

"Came in handy today," Emma quipped, reaching for the flask again. This time, she managed to keep a straight face as she sipped.

"That it does on occasion," he said. He leaned in, appraising Emma casually. "You're eighteen?"

Emma paused just a beat before replying and that was all Killian needed. "Yes."

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Killian smirked. "You're lying."

Emma shifted away from him, suddenly very engrossed in her fingernails. A damp breeze came up, blowing strands of blonde hair over her cheek as she fiddled with the zipper of her jacket. Her jaw clenched, a muscle on her cheek popping. Savagely, she jammed a hand into her bag retrieving the keys and tossing them into his lap as she stood, gravel crunching beneath her feet.

"Look, Killian, it's been fun, but I should get going."

"Swan, I think you should…"

Emma stepped back. "I know what you're going to say and you should know it's not happening. You can't go home if you don't have a home to go back to."

"I know," Killian said.

"How?" Emma blinked, the nervousness on her face blooming into fear. "You're with social services aren't you? Look, I'm not going back. I'll have aged out next year anyways and I'm old enough to take care of myself."

"Social Services?" Killian grimaced. "I don't know what that is, darling, but it sounds official and I think there are probably easier ways to catch runaways than hiding out in a stolen car."

Emma shook her head. "Right, of course, that makes sense. Then how do you know?"

"I recognize the look in your eye," Killian said. "I've seen it in my own eyes since I was a lad. An orphan's an orphan, no matter how old you get."

Emma shifted her weight, hand clutched around the strap of her bag. She approached the bench again and sat gingerly, a good deal of space between them now. Killian's heart, tired and unused as it was, went out to her. He took a swig of rum to drown out the sentimental thought.

"You're an orphan too?" she asked, voice soft and crackling.

"Aye," he said, holding the flask out to her.

Emma took it, but didn't drink, weighing it in her palms. Killian watched her, reminded of another child so very long ago with dark hair instead of blonde, boy instead of girl. A boy he made a promise to, a promise he failed to keep. Killian looked at the keys in his lap. He should walk away right now. He knew, with everything in him that if he didn't walk away, this girl would prove a very different kind of distraction. Not the kind that lasted one night—Never that kind of distraction. Captain Hook might be a scoundrel, but even he had lines he didn't cross.

He should walk away.

But Emma was alone and, if looks were anything to go by, very used to people walking away from her.

"Care to talk about it?" he asked.

"Do you care to talk about how you lost a hand?" she shot back.

Killian touched a finger to his brow. "Fair enough."

She proffered the flask again and he drank, still toying with the idea forming in his mind. Perhaps she didn't have to be a distraction—after all, recruiting someone familiar with this realm could only aid in his task. They could help each other, couldn't they?

"I don't mean to upset you, Emma," he said. "But I think we make quite the team."

Emma quirked an eyebrow. "Oh really? And what's that supposed to mean?"

# # #

 _December 2000_

This was Killian's least favorite con.

It also happened to be their most effective con so far.

"Ready?" Emma asked, double-checking that her bag was in position.

Killian gave her a tight smile. "Always, Swan."

The bell above the door tinkled as they entered the convenience store, drawing the gaze of the balding clerk. Show time, as Emma liked to say. Killian leaned in, hand caressing the bag hidden under her dress, and planted a kiss on her temple.

"Get whatever you want, darling," he said, "I'll try and get directions."

Emma giggled, looking up at him with eyes that could only be described as lovesick. "I will," she said and sashayed over to refrigerated food bin, opening the door and perusing the contents as Killian approached the counter.

"Good day, sir." He turned the full force of his most charming smile on the narrow-faced man.

The clerk looked taken aback. "How are you?"

"I've had better days," Killian said, snagging a map from the rack on the counter and doing his best to unfurl it one-handed. A task he mastered long ago, but Killian found a little pity tended to silence most questions. "Listen, mate, the wife and I are trying to get to Eugene and I think we're headed in the wrong direction. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to help a fellow out?"

The clerk's eyes narrowed and he threw a glance over at Emma, who was sniffing at something that looked like food. "Okay, wait."

Killian braced himself for what was coming. The ease with which people accepted Emma as his wife always curdled an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was only matter of time before someone questioned why someone as old as he would be attached to a seventeen-year-old girl.

"Do I look like a tour guide?" the man snapped. "Why don't you buy the map, then I can help you."

Killian bit back a sigh of relief as he reached into his back pocket and threw a five dollar bill on the counter. As he did, one of the keychains on the display in front of the cash register caught his eye. A circle of metal, black enamel surrounding a little silver swan that winked at him as the keychains swayed slightly. His eyes darted up to find Emma, but she was ducked behind a shelf, no doubt stuffing comestibles into her bag. He thought of snagging it, but it was on his left side, he couldn't filch it without giving the game up.

When the clerk bent down, pointing to a dot on the map, Killian chose to slip a couple of chocolate bars into his pocket instead. He happened to know those were Emma's favorite.

"Hey," a new voice said. "Hey, that guy's…"

On cue, Emma let out a loud groan and came rushing back to the front of the store. "Oh God! Oh God!"

The clerk's head shot up, eyes going wide. Killian took advantage of the distraction, flipping the map up so no one would see him snatch the keychain from the rack.

"Love?"

"I think…I think it's time…" She gasped for breath, hand on her side.

"So you didn't see…"

Emma moaned again, so gustily that Killian half believed her himself. "It hurts really bad," she cried, latching onto the newcomer.

Killian rushed over, murmuring encouragements and waving off the clerk's questions as he bustled Emma out the door, her cries of pain drowning out the protests of the would be snitch. They banged through the door, breaking into a run as soon as the door slammed shut behind them. Emma held the bag close underneath her dress as they careened around the corner, laughing breathlessly.

"The little fellow saved our necks," Killian said, slipping the keychain into his pocket as he retrieved the keys to their car.

"He sure did." Emma laughed again, pausing to unhook the bag from around her neck. "The miracle of birth." She tossed the bag between the front seats.

"Good haul," Killian said, glancing down at the bag. When he looked up, Emma wore a mile wide grin, her eyes sparking. Bare inches separated them. Killian's breath caught, his attention captured by the brush of her lashes against her cheek. The keychain in his pocket felt warm against his skin.

Killian cleared his throat, pulling away as he shoved the keys in the ignition.

"We need to move."

# # #

They enjoyed their first meal of the day, waiting by the bug as they scoped out the motel. Emma was working on the second half of a chocolate bar.

Sneaking into motels had been Emma's idea, something she'd picked up during her few months alone. Killian loved the fact that it provided him access to the miracle of the shower. He was far better kept—and far better smelling—than he had been in months. Public restrooms only allowed for so much personal grooming.

Emma nudged him with her elbow, glancing over at the family traipsing down the walk.

"Twenty minutes until housekeeping," she said, popping a final piece of chocolate in her mouth.

They hurried over, Killian producing a rigged lock pick from his pocket, shielding the doorknob with his body as Emma stepped to the other side.

"You really are going to have to show me how you do that one-handed," she whispered.

"I'd rather pray that you never lose a hand, Swan," he said as the tumblers clicked and the door swung open.

"Oh look," Emma said, dumping her bag on the bed. "The granola family left this." She held up a circle, with a net strung inside it, feather tassels hanging from the bottom.

"Is that object of some special significance?" Killian asked.

"It's a Native American dreamcatcher," Emma said, plopping down on the bed and holding the object above her. "It supposed to keep all the nightmares out and let only good dreams in to protect your home."

"So, it's a trap for nightmares?" Killian took it from Emma, thumbing one of the beads woven into the net. Green as Emma's eyes. "We should keep it."

Emma laughed. "Yeah and hang it where? The car?" She dumped the bag onto the bed, sorting through the food that would have to last them until tomorrow. They would need to get to another part of town before they could pull this trick again.

Killian watched Emma, the strange urge rising up in him to say that maybe it was time. Maybe they should settle down, find decent jobs, stop running everywhere. Except he couldn't. He had a town in a place called Maine to find. He needed to keep working east.

"It's not much of a home," Killian said. "But it's all we have for now." He tossed the dreamcatcher onto the bed by her bag. "We keep it. Now, Swan, shall I shower first? Or can I trust you not to take up all our time?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh please, we both know you take longer. Go." She waved her hand. "I'd rather be well fed than smell pretty."

"Yes, well, you don't have to sleep in the same car as you," he said. "So, I'll be quick."

# # #

"So back here in three hours?" Emma asked, fingers wound around the strap on her bag.

"Aye, Swan, you go work you magic, I'll meet you here at nine." He squeezed her hand gently and handed her the keys. "I'll be right here. Hopefully with a little dinner."

Emma possessed a special talent for wheedling a little extra cash from bleeding heart do-gooders, but her act worked better without Killian. He preferred to fall back on his own particular set of skills and they needed every bit they could get, so on occasion they would divide and conquer as it were. It was high time they moved on, but that took gas and for gas, you needed cash.

Killian headed for the busy shopping plaza, he always managed to find some distracted businessman or frazzled "soccer mom" as Emma dubbed them—whatever that meant. There would be someone here who wouldn't notice a deft hand slipping into their bag or coat pocket.

He sensed the tail before he saw him.

Pausing to peruse the selection in a shop window, Killian noted the people following him, saw the man in the black coat eyeing a shop down the line. Hand curling around the hook in his pocket, Killian kept walking, focus shifting from those around him to the man behind him. He bumped into a woman carrying several parcels, spinning just enough to see if the man was still following him. Apologizing, Killian helped the woman right her packages and ducked into an alley, pulling his hook out of his pocket and locking it into place.

The man in the black coat rounded the corner. Killian grabbed him by the lapel, shoving him up against the wall and pressing the point of his hook at the man's neck.

"You picked the wrong mark, mate," he said.

The man gasped, one hand grabbing what would have been Killian's wrist—if he still had one on that arm.

"It's not like that," he said, "I just want to talk."

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Perhaps I don't want to listen." He relaxed, shoving the man to the ground. "On your way then." Perhaps it was a mistake, letting this man go, but he was loathe to explain coming back with blood on his jacket. Emma would worry.

The man's eyes went wide as he took in the wicked curve of metal.

"Really?" he said, rubbing the scratch left in his skin. "Of all the people Emma could have taken up with, she found Captain Hook? You're actually real." He laughed wryly, picking himself up off the ground. Dirt stained his pants. He shook his head, brushing at his knees. "Who am I kidding? I'm real, of course you would be too."

Killian froze, turning back to the man on the ground. "What the bloody hell are you going on about, mate?" His eyes narrowed. "And how do you know Emma?" Killian knew he should probably be more alarmed with the fact that this man knew who he was, and yet, the mention of Emma troubled Killian far more. Had Pan been watching him? What would happen if he though Emma was getting in the way of Killian completing his task.

"I'm August," he said, "think of me as Emma's guardian angel."

"Guardian angel?" Killian scoffed. He crossed his arms, fixing his most deadly glare on the man. "Well, you've certainly bollocksed that up."

To his credit, August didn't flinch. "I've been looking for her for the past two years. And I finally find her and what's she doing? Robbing convenience stores with a dirty pirate. Tell me again who 'bollocksed' this up?"

"Two years?" Killian growled, anger drowning out the nagging truth behind August's word. Who was this man to tell him what was best for Emma? The ground crunched beneath Killian's boots as he approached the stranger. August was taller by an inch, maybe two, but Killian had no doubt his own rage would even out the fight. "And where exactly were you the rest of her life? Eh, mate?"

August flinched, kicking at some trash on the ground. "I'm not perfect and this world? Full of temptations. Turns out I'm not that great at saying no." He gestured to himself. "I'm not built that way."

"So, who are you?"

"We were in the same home together," August said. "I thought she would be safe in the system…"

Killian snorted.

"Back then, I promised I would take care of her. I'm just trying to keep my promise."

"Too late for that, mate," Killian said, his dislike of the man multiplying. "Maybe I'm not doing the best job, but I'm doing a better one than you ever did. We take care of each other, she and I."

August's eyes jumped up, recognition sparking in them—and maybe a little bit of humor. "You love her."

Now it was Killian's turn to step back. "It's not like that, mate. I've never touched her."

"There's more than one kind of love."

Killian met August's stare for a moment before letting out a slow breath. "Aye."

"Good. Then that means you have to do right by her. You have to leave her."

"Never." The bloodlust boiled up inside Killian. He seized August by the jacket, slamming him into the wall again. His forearm dug into the soft flesh of August's throat. "I will never abandon her." The vehemence in his voice surprised Killian. He truly meant it.

The other man gasped, fingers clawing at Killian's arm. "She has a destiny. There's a curse…"

"I know about the curse," Killian said. "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Then you should know that she's the one to break it."

Killian staggered back. Emma—his Emma—was the savior? She was the one that Pan had blathered on about when he'd given his instructions? Out of all the people in all the world, the girl meant to break the Evil Queen's curse had broken into _his_ car. Killian felt like he'd been plunged in an ice cold sea.

This changed things.

"The curse has to be broken," August rasped, hand at his throat. He swallowed, a grimace of pain crossing his face. "Emma is the key. It was my job to keep her on track and you got caught in the crossfire, Hook. Now you have to make a decision. Will you do the right thing?"

"The right thing?"

"Leave her, so that she can fulfill her destiny."

Emma, her fingers wrapped tightly around her bag, came to mind. Killian could remember the exact tone of her voice as she confirmed—not for the first time—that he would be there when she returned. The look on her face as she got into the car and drove away, the apprehension, was seared into his mind. Emma—whose parents sent her to this world—left only with a newspaper clipping to tell her what kind of people her parents were. Though, the little article now told a very different story.

And this man asked Killian to do what had already been done to her too many times.

"No," Killian said, clenching his fist. "No, leaving Emma will never be the right thing. She is worth more than your bloody destiny."

August stared at him, silent, the gears in his head turning. Thoughts flickered behind his eyes, but Killian held up his hand.

"If what I've heard is true, we still have eleven years before Emma can break the curse," Killian said. "There's no point getting her to Storybrooke before then."

"How is it you know so much about the curse?"

"None of your business, mate," Killian said. "All you need to know is I'm doing a better job than you. And that's the end of it."

# # #

He was doing right by her, Killian assured himself that night.

The smile Emma graced him with when they reunited told him this was right. He learned the difference quickly, between her true smiles and the ones she put on to fool the rest of the world. Trust came slow with Emma Swan and he realized he cherished that trust.

Though Killian didn't know what she would say if she discovered he held answers about her family.

But he couldn't just tell her.

Emma Swan didn't believe in fairy tales.

He stretched, taking up every inch of the front seat he could. Emma slept curled in the back, her hair a messy silver tangle in the moonlight. A slight smile even as she dreamed.

Good dreams tonight then.

Emma shifted and the blanket slid off of her shoulder. Without thinking, Killian reached out, pulling it back up over her shoulder. Last night was bitterly cold. Perhaps it was time for them to find somewhere a little warmer. He'd bring that up tomorrow. New territory would be difficult, but they could manage.

The leather band around his wrist chafed, reminding Killian of the question bothering him since the encounter with August. Had Pan known? When the demon tracked Killian and his men down in the Enchanted Forest and offered him a chance at his revenge, had he known that Killian would meet Emma? Pan dumping him in the exact city as Emma seemed too great a coincidence.

With a start, Killian realized his last thoughts of that task had been some weeks ago. It frightened him, how easily taking care of Emma became his priority. But, a small voice asked, was that a bad thing? According to Pan, eleven years of the curse still remained, that was plenty of time to cross a country. Plenty of time indeed.

Perhaps, it was time for him to start thinking about what those eleven years would look like.

# # #

 _October 2001_

Emma eyed Killian suspiciously as they pulled into the motel parking lot. True, it wasn't their usual haunt. Most nights they holed up in back alleys or secluded parks, places a two people sleeping in a beat up old car would be overlooked. Emma pressed her lips together.

"What's going on, Killian?" she asked.

"It's not every day your favorite lass turns eighteen," Killian said, bumping her shoulder gently with his. "I thought you deserved a night in a proper bed."

Emma gaped. "We're celebrating my birthday by breaking into a motel?"

Killian pressed his hand to his chest. "You wound me, Swan. As if I would give you a pilfered gift." Fishing the room key out of his pocket and handing it to her.

Emma bit back a smile, pressing her lips together.

"It's already paid for, Emma," he said. "So you might as well enjoy it." Killian grinned and stepped out of the car, slinging his small sack over one shoulder before retrieving the small paper sack he'd secreted in the trunk of the car. The car door slammed behind him as he headed for their room, rushed footsteps overtaking him at the room's entrance.

"I thought we used all of our money getting the new VIN for the car," Emma said, slipping the key into the lock.

"Aye, but this is a little side project I've had going," he said.

Emma paused, door half-cracked, and glanced up at him with wide eyes. "Killian, you didn't have to do that for me."

"It's high time you had a good birthday, Swan." Bracing his shoulder against the door, he pushed it the rest of the way open.

The room wasn't much to brag about. Dull, over-washed blankets lay atop slightly yellowed sheets. Wood laminate peeled from a corner of the armoire and a popped seam along one arm of the couch, but the necessities were there. Killian nudged the back of Emma's leg with his knee, pulling the door closed behind them. The bed creaked as Emma sat, fingers digging into the covers.

"I can't believe you remembered."

Emma only showed him the article once, her fingers shaking slightly as she handed him the worn paper with its soft edges and worn corners. The story, and consequently the date, had burned into his mine that day. He now suspected that perhaps her parents hadn't chosen her place of arrival in this world. Perhaps they hadn't been the ones to send her through at all. But he kept that to himself for now. He made his peace with the fact that Emma wouldn't believe him months ago.

Tears danced in Emma's eyes when she looked up at him, though the stubborn set of her chin meant she was fighting them.

"Now," Killian said. "Since you're the birthday girl, I shall let you have first go at the shower and I won't even complain if you use up all the hot water." He shooed her toward the bathroom with his stump. He could shower later, after she fell asleep.

Emma swiped at her eyes and grabbed her bag, disappearing into the small room.

Killian waited until he heard the hiss of the shower before he set about the final preparations. It took some doing, pulling his last purchase of the day out of the bag one-handed, but he managed it without damaging anything.

And all that was left to do was wait.

Emma didn't take long. She never did.

She came out, toweling her hair dry, dressed in a pair of leggings and a baggy Portland Beavers t-shirt they filched as a reminder of their time there. It had turned into one of their things, snatching some souvenir from each city they visited. Killian slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers closing around one last souvenir from Portland he'd saved for the right occasion. This occasion, perhaps.

"You know, I'd forgotten what it's like to have fresh towels," Emma said. She froze when she saw the item on the table. "Is that—Is that a cupcake?"

"Aye." Killian said. "German chocolate. I thought about getting you a whole cake, but I'm afraid that wouldn't fit in my pocket." In truth, Killian bought the elaborate confection fair and square. More and more, he found himself worrying what would happen to Emma if they were caught. It was why they finally purchased a title for the bug and why they spent longer in each city now. Earning money honestly took a longer, but they took small odd jobs more and more, resorting to thievery less and less.

Leave it to Emma to turn him from his pirate ways.

"Killian…this is too much," she whispered. "You shouldn't have."

He smirked. "The look on your face right now says otherwise, Swan."

Emma barreled into him, knocking the breath out of him as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. A hiccupping sob burst from her, the soft breath tickling at his collarbone. Killian wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek into the coolness of her wet hair.

Emma sniffed. "No one has ever done anything like this for me before."

Killian pressed a chaste kiss to her temple, heart aching. "Shall we light the candle, love?"

Emma pressed the sleeve of her t-shirt underneath her eyes and gave him a watery smile. "Yeah."

The miracles of this world still astounded Killian at times, but that didn't mean that he wasn't grateful for things like lighters, which could be used easily with just one hand.

"Make a wish, Swan," he said.

Emma swallowed, looking up at him with bright eyes. "I don't even know what to wish for."

"Oh, I'm sure you can think of something."

Biting her lip, Emma focused on the candle. Her eyes met his across the little table and she nodded once. She didn't look away from Killian as she leaned forward and blew out the candle.

"Is there a knife?" she asked.

Killian quirked an eyebrow. "And what would you need a knife for, Swan?"

"Well, I'm not going to eat this whole thing myself."

"I thought you might save some for breakfast."

"Killian," she said, holding out her hand.

Chuckling, Killian rose from the floor and went to retrieve the paper sack. The bakery had kindly provided a plastic knife with the massive cupcake. Emma grabbed his wrist when he returned, tugging until he collapsed on the couch beside her. She took care as she peeled back the wrapper, careful not to smudge the icing. Killian leaned back, smiling at the care she took with something that would be mush in their stomachs in a matter of minutes.

At last, Emma cut the cupcake down the middle, handing him his half. "Cheers," she said, holding her half aloft before taking a giant bite.

"Ah, if it's a toast you want, Swan…" Killian pulled his flask from his back pocket. "You are officially of age in the mother country." He passed her the flask before taking a bite of his half of the cupcake.

They made quick work of the treat.

"Thank you, Killian," Emma said, curling into him. "This is the best birthday I've ever had."

Killian ducked away from her piercing gaze, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm serious, Killian," Emma said, fingers catching his jaw and bringing his eyes back to her. "This has been the happiest year of my life."

In a normal exchange, Killian would point out that it had only been eleven months. Instead, he raised the flask.

"To another banner year, Swan," he said and took a swing, then handed the thing to her.

"To another banner year," Emma said.

Killian found his eyes lingering on the curve of her neck as she tilted her head back to take a drink. The way her shoulder slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt with just a bare glimpse of collarbone. Perhaps, that had been enough rum for the night. For him, at least. He waved the flask away when Emma offered it back.

"I've had quite enough," he said. "Early start tomorrow and all that."

"Housekeeping doesn't come until ten," Emma said.

"Ah, but as you'll remember that car of yours cost us a pretty penny. We'd best replenish our funds quickly."

Emma leaned back into him, cheek pillowed against his shoulder. "So we're staying?"

"For the time being," he said. "Though…I have been thinking."

"Uh-oh."

"Stop it, Swan," he said, jostling her so she giggled. "I am trying to be serious."

Emma huffed, sitting back and pulling her knees up to her chest. Resting her chin atop them, she said, "Okay. What have you been thinking about?"

"What would you say to settling a bit," he said.

"Settling?"

"I've just been thinking it might be nice to sleep somewhere other than the bug," he said.

"Ah, so that's what this is about," Emma said with a sly grin. "You're trying to remind me there are other ways to sleep than curled up in the back of a car."

"Or perhaps I just wanted to do something nice for you birthday."

"So…here? In Phoenix."

"I was actually thinking Maine," Killian said. "There's a little town I know of over there. It might be nice. People won't ask too many questions. I could be the older brother, caring for his younger stepsister, I think."

Emma bit her lip, expression souring a little. "Siblings?"

"Aye, people like to gossip in small towns."

"Yeah," she said. "I guess so."

"What's wrong, Swan?" He took her hand in his, trying to meet her eyes.

Emma shrugged. "Just thinking. What's the name of this town?"

"Storybrooke."

"Really?" Emma burst out laughing. "Sorry," she said when Killian glowered. "Sorry, it's just…that name."

Killian shook his head. "Just think about it, Swan."

"You really want that," she asked, the smile staying on her face. "With me."

"We take care of each other, remember?" he said. "You're the only family I've had in a long while."

Emma sighed. Something bothered her, something Killian couldn't quite place, which bothered him. HE was used to being able to read her easily. Perhaps she didn't like him putting a label on this thing they had. Or his talk of things that seemed permanent was what put her off. Emma didn't like either of those things, she didn't believe they lasted. Killian was inclined to agree with her. Many things didn't last.

That made the things that did so much more important.

"One last thing," Killian said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the keychain he'd been holding onto for the better part of a year. "A swan for the swan princess."

He expected an eye roll at the silly nickname. He'd taken to calling her that occasionally since his run in with August—ever since he found out who she truly was. She thought the nickname ridiculous. "I'm not a princess," she always said.

Tonight's reaction was very different.

Emma gasped, sitting forward as she cupped the silver charm in her hands, her smile lighting up her eyes. "This is for me?"

Killian grinned. "Something I picked up in Portland, I've just been waiting for the right moment. And seeing as you now have that car free and clear, I thought—"

Emma surged forward, the cold metal of the keychain pressing against his cheek as she pressed her lips to his. She tasted like chocolate and rum, her lips slightly chapped against his. He leaned into the kiss for a just a moment before pulling away.

"Emma…" he said, grasping her shoulder, needing distance between them, but also reluctant to let go.

"What?" Emma raised an eyebrow, green eyes sparking dangerously. "Am I not your type?"

Truly, she wasn't. His taste tended toward brunettes, despite how they reminded him of Milah. Though it had been a very long time since he enjoyed a woman's company in the way Emma's eyes suggested. A bit hard to bring a woman home when home was a tiny car shared with a seventeen-year-old girl. And somewhere along the way, assuring Emma that he wouldn't leave had become more important than seeking his own pleasure.

"I don't want to be your sister, Killian," Emma said.

Heart pounding in his chest, Killian swallowed. Killian Jones had lines. Lines that he did not cross. Right now though, he was having difficulty remembering just where those lines were. Especially since, by this world's standards, Emma was now on the right side of one of those lines.

"And what do you want, Emma?"

"This," she said, leaning forward.

Killian captured her lips with his own.

# # #

Killian woke in a real bed for the first time in more than a hundred years, his arm draped around the waist of a lovely warm body. Soft hair tickled his nose and without opening his eyes he knew it was blonde. Gently, he pulled Emma closer.

Emma.

Killian blinked all the way awake, ignoring the pins and needles coming to life in his right shoulder.

He lay in bed. With Emma.

The night came flooding back, her legs wrapping around his waist as he stood from the couch and carried her to the bed. Every whispered, "Are you sure?" and equally quiet, "Don't stop." The way she'd looked at him, like he was her whole world and how each kiss left him sure that she was his. The way everything last night felt right, like home.

What had he done?

 _I don't want to be your sister._

Of course she didn't. She was young, impressionable, used to people leaving her. Of course someone staying would look like love to her. A cold feeling washed over him, settling in his gut and turning it to bile. Carefully, Killian slid his arm out from under Emma, pausing when she stirred, sighing in relief when she didn't wake. He crept to the bathroom and flipped the light on and then right back off as the blasted fan whirred to life. Turning on the faucet, he splashed cold water on his face.

What had he done?

Last night, everything had been perfect. He had home. He had family.

 _Emma had been perfect_ , the treacherous part of his brain said. He wrenched his mind away from those thoughts. Those thoughts said kiss her awake, take her again.

This couldn't happen again.

There were lines. Lines constructed to protect Emma. Killian wasn't a fool, he knew when they took up together that she was beautiful and fiery, but she was also young, impossibly young compared to him. And the man who'd once believed in good form couldn't see any way this was not taking advantage of her.

 _You were already planning on taking advantage of her when it was time to break the curse_.

Aye, but not this way. Never this way.

Killian cursed his bad judgment and the rum.

No, not the rum. He hadn't had enough last night to truly impair his thinking. This was him. He destroyed every good thing that came his way, how could he have thought it wouldn't happen with Emma?

Except, it hadn't happened yet.

Emma could still be spared.

He needed to leave.

Tiptoeing back into the room, Killian gathered his things. Emma slumbered on, her skin glowing slightly blue in the light that slipped through a crack in the curtains. A tempting sight, but not in the way he expected. Everything in him wanted to slip back under the covers with her, to allow her to wake safe and loved for the rest of her life.

How long ago had he declared that leaving Emma would never be the right thing?

And here he was, ready to slip out the door without a goodbye.

All he wanted to do was stay.

Which was why he needed to leave.

He grabbed his shirt and sat, slipping his feet into his shoes. Was there time to write a note? She deserved that much at least—no, she deserved much, much more, but he wasn't the one to give it to her. She deserved someone who could love her.

 _You do love her._

The thought smacked him straight across the face.

"Killian?"

Killian jumped, turning to find Emma propped on both elbows, brushing hair out of her face.

"What's wrong?" Emma reached over, flicking on the light, eyes narrowing when she saw him half-dressed.

Killian busied himself with slipping his shirt over his head, unable to even look at Emma as he said, "I have to leave."

"Okay," Emma said.

He couldn't help looking over as she threw aside the blankets, shocked because surely it couldn't be that easy. Surely, she would demand an explanation.

"Give me five minutes and I'll be ready to go." She'd already found her shirt on the other side of the bed and was slipping it over her head, Killian averted his eyes again, just for that brief moment—both touched and despondent that she felt no shame in front of him. That was exactly as it should be—but not with him.

Killian sighed. "No, love, I'm going alone."

He felt everything on that side of the room went still. By now he didn't have to see Emma to feel every ounce of hurt, pain, and confusion running through her.

"I don't understand. Last night you said…" Emma's voice cut off with a soft gasp. "Is this because of last night?"

"You're better off without me, Swan."

Finally, he glanced over at her, expecting tears or heartbreak. He found anger.

"That's a lie and you know it." She stalked over to him, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at him. "So the last year, everything that we've done…you're just going to throw that away because we had sex?"

Killian stood slowly. "It shouldn't have happened, Emma."

"What? Why? Is it the age thing, Killian?"

Seven hells, how did she know him so well?

She took his silence as his answer

Emma scoffed. "I'm eighteen, Killian."

Killian took a turn laughing. "Aye, Swan, I'm still more than twice your age." It was the truth, technically. He snatched up his hoodie and his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He needed to leave now. "This has to be a one-time thing."

"Wait, Killian," Emma said, her voice breaking. She latched onto his arm. "Look, you want it to be a one-time thing then fine. It was a one-time thing. Please don't go." Her voice was so soft it cut him.

Killian wanted to hold her, tell her what she wanted to hear, stay with her forever. But his mind wouldn't stop reminding him that she was a child—no, Emma Swan hadn't been a child in a long time, but compared to him she'd barely taken her first steps.

Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and Killian's heart broke. His thumb skimmed her cheek, catching one as it fell. If she wanted him to stay, how could he leave her? But if he stayed, he knew it was only a matter of time before it wasn't enough. Sooner or later, he'd want what they shared last night. How would he ever be sure if she wanted it too or if she just gave in because that was what she thought she needed to do to keep him?

Emma's hand slid up his arm, over his chest to his heart. "Killian, please. I love you."

"I love you, too." The words sprang to his tongue, bursting forth from a place he wished he'd seen before now. And seven hells, it was true. He didn't just love Emma Swan, he was in love with her. A foreign idea to him after so many years believing that Milah would be his only love besides the sea and yet here was Emma, offering him a second chance. He could—if he stayed—he would love her for the rest of his life.

And it would be enough, he realized.

It would be enough for him.

But how long would it be enough for Emma?

Killian remembered being that young. He remembered discovering a little more about himself every day, to say that he wasn't that same person that he had been at eighteen was a vast understatement. Emma would grow and Emma would change and how long would it be until she realized how much better she deserved?

Until she realized that she could have so much more with someone else.

"And that's why I have to go," he said. Gently, he pried her hand from his arm, trying not to look at her as he picked up his things. He stopped, pulling out the last of their cash and throwing the envelope onto the coffee table. "I'll get the rest of my things out of the car and leave my spare in the glove box." He looked back one last time and regretted it. He didn't want to remember her this way, tears streaming down her cheeks, arms wrapped around her middle. Last night, as she cut the cake, that was how he wanted to remember her always, the incandescent smile on her face when he gave her the keychain.

But he didn't deserve those memories, he supposed.

He would never be sure now, if some part of him hadn't manipulated her into this.

Either way, this was his fault.

The snick of the latch sliding into place sounded final. He half-hoped, half-dreaded Emma wrenching the door open and coming after him as he gathered his things, begging him not to go again. He knew he hadn't the strength to walk away from her a second time.

The door remained closed.

Killian still took his time, opening the rucksack and combining both his bags. On a whim, he reached down into the bottom of the bag, his fingers closing around the cool metal of his hook. He pulled the attachment out.

It had been too long.

Too long since he'd thought of Milah and his revenge. Too long he'd been content to take his time when just across this country his revenge waited. It was time to stop distracting himself with teenage girls and get back to what he was sent here to do—back to what he wanted more than anything else. He slammed the trunk shut, but the noise did nothing to drown out the voice telling him that he wanted something very different now.

Revenge was the only safe thing. Revenge was all he had.

Shouldering his bag, Killian yanked open the car door, tossing his key into the glove box as he'd promised. He might be done with Emma Swan, but he was a man of honor. He kept his word. He never promised to stay, not with his word at least. As he closed the glove box, something caught his eye. The dreamcatcher, sent swaying by the way his weight shifted the bug. The feathers fluttered, catching flashes of the streetlight that turned the beads a sickly color. Killian paused, reaching out to let a feather ghost over his fingers. Gently, he unhooked the dreamcatcher, placing it on the top of his bag.

He closed the car door carefully, suddenly mindful of the people into the other motel rooms, and started off on his journey.

If he had to walk the whole way to Storybrooke, he would.

# # #

"You have a hook for a hand."

The small voice came from behind Killian. With a nod to Ruby as he picked up his coffee, Killian turned to face the bright, young person verbally assaulting him. He recognized the mayor's lad, with his shaggy mop of dark hair hanging in his green eyes, immediately. The boy stood in Killian's path, clearly expecting an answer. Surprising. Though, Killian spent his first year worried someone would realize that he didn't belong, he eventually figured out that Pan's bracelet was more than his ticket into Storybrooke, it also allowed him all the benefits of the curse. Unless he interacted with them directly, people tended to ignore him.

Until now, that was.

"You are a perceptive lad," Killian said.

"You're different."

"Aye, well that is the way with people. We're all different. Now if you'll excuse me, I have places to go."

"No, I mean you're not from around here," the boy said.

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I imagine the accent gives that away."

The boy sighed. "No, that's not what I mean…" He gestured with one small hand for Killian to bend down. And even though Killian didn't feel inclined to chat with this child, he leaned down anyways. "Don't you see it? Everybody else does the same thing every day, but not you. I've been watching."

"You have, have you?"

"Yeah," the boy said. "There's something up in this town."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, lad." Killian stepped around the boy. If he didn't hurry, he there would be a run in with the Crocodile and he truly didn't relish one of those. He didn't need to blacken his mood any further.

When he arrived in Storybrooke, he made finding Rumpelstiltskin his first order of business. During his month long trek across the country and the weeks spent searching for spot Pan described, he drowned out his guilt over Emma with thoughts of revenge. The sweetness of finally having the Dark One at his mercy. The knowledge that Rumplestiltskin could do nothing to stop him.

Finding Rumplestiltskin was an easy task. What he had found had been far harder to stomach.

The Crocodile didn't even recognize him.

Pan told him it would be so, but Killian hadn't believed him. Not until he marched into the pawnshop and Rumplestiltskin looked at him like he was any other customer.

Killian thought he wouldn't care. As long as he killed the man who took Milah from him, what did it matter if the man knew who he was?

But though he recognized Rumplestiltskin without the glittering skin and the scales, Killian hesitated. He wanted more than just to skin the Crocodile. Killian wanted the man to know exactly who he was when he did. Killian wanted to see realization in the man's eyes, for the man to know who it was that had bested him.

So Killian waited.

If what Pan told him was true, he had one last year to wait.

And then…but Killian didn't want to think about her. Not when he wasn't even sure she would make it. Who would get her here? He discovered quickly that while Pan's bracelet allowed him to enter Storybrooke, it didn't allow him to leave.

He only hoped August would succeed where he failed.

"My name's Henry," the boy said, trotting up beside Killian as he left the diner. Behind them, the soft thud of the door cut off the jingling bell.

"Killian," Killian bit out. He winced at his tone. His experience with children had been, until now, almost entirely negative. He sighed, this child was no lost boy. That much was clear from the look in his eyes. "Killian Jones."

"No one in this town ever gets any older," Henry said, kicking at a stone in the road.

"And how would a…" He paused, trying to remember how long the boy had been here. The mayor threw a lavish party every year and the first one had been… "Seven-year-old know that no one ages here?"

Henry huffed. "I'm eight. And it's kind of obvious when I'm the only kid that ever moves up a grade."

"Ah, I see," Killian said, feeling a little sorry for the lad. It couldn't be easy, being the only person in this town that changed. Killian at least was used to being alone by now. Being alone was something he knew well even when he had the _Jolly Roger_ and his crew. But for a child to be alone? True, there were harder fates for a child, but that did not make this one any less sad.

"You don't believe me," Henry said, his face falling.

Killian had the sudden urge to tell Henry that he did believe him. And moreover, explain why. However, if Pan told the truth at the beginning of this whole escapade, then the Evil Queen was this boy's mother and she was the one person whose attention Killian didn't want to risk attracting.

"It is a bit far-fetched, lad," Killian said.

"You're lying."

"While lying is among my awful habits, I assure you lad, I am speak the truth now."

Henry sighed. "Maybe I was wrong."

Something inside Killian sank. "Perhaps you were, lad, but it never hurts to keep your eyes open."

Henry blinked, a grin lighting up his face. Killian nearly smiled in return, though he couldn't place why it felt so familiar.

"Henry," came a strident voice. "Stop bothering that poor man, we need to go."

Killian turned to see the mayor, dressed in a tight black dress and jacket, hand on her hip. She pressed her lips together, giving her son a look only a mother could. Killian remembered being on the receiving end of that look many times as a small child.

"I'm sorry, sir," the mayor said. "My son doesn't know the meaning of the word stranger."

"It's quite alright," Killian said, nodding and turning is head slightly. Any minute now, the game would be up. "You have quite a clever boy."

The woman smile a little. "Yes, he is very clever. And in a good deal of trouble. Did I not tell you to not wander off while I talked with the Sheriff?"

"I just went to Granny's, Mom," the boy said.

Killian took advantage of the distraction Henry provided and with another half nod, he walked off down the street, not noticing the Crocodile until the man passed him. As always, the bloodlust rushed up. Killian fought the urge to chase the man down. He might be biding his time before he killed the man, but beating Rumplestiltskin to a bloody pulp always sounded like a good idea.

Wait, he told himself. He couldn't exact his revenge from the inside of a jail cell and even he didn't like his odds against the iron bars inside the sheriff's station.

His hand closed tightly, hissing as hot coffee gushed over his hand. He dropped the crumpled cup, shaking the stinging liquid off of his hand.

One year.

One more bloody year to wait until it was time to exact his revenge.

One more year and Emma would come.

* * *

 **Just a little something that I started thinking up early this season. And decided to play around with. Yeah, I know it's probably been done before. Whatever. Anyways, I think we can all tell where this is going. We'll be switching off now and then between Emma and Killian's POVs and I'll warn you, timeline is going to stay much he same in regards to their relationship for reasons (that will become more apparent when we get to Emma's POV). This is going to be a fic of the slowest burn. Lemme tell you, it's been weird not only writing early, angry Killian, but also revisiting some of the ships that I shipped before the CS movie determined the course of my life (or at least which ship I'd sail off on).**

 **Not sure how far I'm going to take this. I'd like to get to the end of season one at least. Maybe I'll take it as far as season three. After that it seems pretty redundant to keep going, as S4 on would take basically the same path. Dunno, maybe if people are still enjoying it, I'll keep it up just to continue improving my descriptions (this has been a wonderful exercise). We'll see. That's a HUGE commitment. My more, um, "serious" writing projects have to take precedence.**

 **Anyways, can't say how often I'll be updating. With all my other project, chapters are taking a few weeks to write.**

 **But definitely give me feedback. Definitely remind me that you're still reading. I'll try not to disappoint.**


	2. Chapter 2

_October 2011_

Every year, Emma told herself wasn't doing this again.

And every year, Emma found herself stopping at some bakery for a single cupcake.

A yearly ritual, because every deserved something sweet on their birthday, but she could never bring herself—and honestly, she hadn't always had the funds—to purchase an entire cake for a single person. For one thing, that was slightly depressing. For another, she would probably eat the whole thing in two days and that was really depressing.

Each year, Emma tried a different flavor. Never chocolate. This year's flavor was lemon cake with buttercream icing. The assistant at the bakery claimed it tasted like a "bright, little piece of heaven". Emma had scoffed, but she bought the little cupcake anyways and headed home, to her dark, empty apartment. Yeah, a real cake would definitely have been too depressing, she thought as she stumbled through the door, kicking her shoes off. The arches of her feet sighed in relief. She knew she should change out of her dress, try salvaging it, but a dry cleaner would have more luck with the wine stain than she would. Instead, Emma headed to the kitchen and pulled out the little box of star candles that had traveled from place to place with her for the last eight years.

The match flaming to life made her smile and she leaned down once the candle caught, watching the flickering light for a moment.

"Another banner year," she said.

 _I wish I didn't have to be alone today_.

The wish surprised her. She hadn't made a birthday wish in ten years, not since her first and only birthday wish went so horribly wrong. Quickly, before the memories could catch up with her, Emma blew out the candle.

And then the doorbell rang.

That never boded well.

Emma left the cupcake, smoke still curling above the blue star and went to deal with whoever was bothering her at—she glanced at the microwave—nine o'clock.

Steeling herself to dispatch this intruder into her solitude, Emma opened the door with her resting bitch face already in place. At first, she thought someone had pranked her, but as she debated whether chasing the perpetrator down the hallway would be worth it, a clearing throat brought her attention down.

A shaggy haired kid in a blue jacket and striped scarf stared up at her, lip caught between his teeth.

"Uh…" Emma probably would have been less surprised by the Great Pumpkin showing up at her door. She wracked her brain, trying to remember if this kid belonged to one of her neighbors. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Emma Swan?"

Emma didn't think this could get any stranger.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

He rolled his lips together in a gesture that seemed vaguely familiar.

"My name is Henry," he said, a shy smile breaking across his face. "I'm your son."

The words blind-sided her. Everything stopped as her brain tried to process the words.

 _It's a boy, Emma._

 _I'm your son._

What. The. Hell.

The kid—Henry—ducked under her arm, bringing Emma crashing back to the moment.

This was a mistake. This had to be a mistake. There was no way this kid was—

"Whoa. Wait, kid!" She grabbed for him, but he was already past her and into the living room, taking in all the unpacked boxes that had been sitting there for over a year. "Kid! I don't have a son. Where are your parents?"

Henry turned to her, lips pressed tight again as he studied her.

"Nine years ago, did you give up a baby for adoption?"

Emma couldn't deny that she recognized him. The shaggy brown hair, the shape of his face, the way he saw right through her automatic reaction—it was exactly how she'd imagined Killian as a child. Which she absolutely hadn't imagined once in their whole year together.

Henry had her eyes though.

"That was me," he said.

Emma felt woozy. Fall down? Or throw up? The jury was still out on that one.

"Give me a minute."

She practically ran for the bathroom, though her stomach had settled by the time she closed the door behind her. Her thoughts? Not so much. She was already over how much he looked like Killian. Of course he looked like Killian, he was Killian's kid too. What bother her was this kid showing up at her door with no parents. Why? Things were supposed to be better for him. Hadn't that been the whole point of giving him up? The thought hit her in the gut and she grabbed for the sink to keep from falling to the floor. _Breathe, Emma._ She had given him up so that he wouldn't have the life that she'd had and he was standing in her kitchen. A runaway.

Just like she had been.

But why?

And what did she do about it?

"Do you have any juice?" His voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Nevermind. Found some."

Emma needed answers.

And then… Then she would figure out what to do.

She found him drinking the juice straight out of the bottle when she exited the bathroom. Yeah, he was definitely her kid. Emma approached cautiously, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with this strange kid. She didn't know what kind of baggage had brought him here.

He was nine for crying out loud.

But she knew what kind of baggage a nine-year-old could carry too well.

Henry spoke first. "You know we should probably get going."

Emma crossed her arms. What game did this kid think he was playing? "Going where?"

"I want you to come home with me," he said, smiling at her like it was the most natural idea in the world.

Emma was starting to entertain the very real possibility that her kid was on drugs. She'd seen younger. Snatching up the phone, she hit the call button.

"You know what, kid, I'm calling the cops."

"And I'll tell them that you kidnapped me."

Damn it. Most definitely her kid. Emma let out a breath. "And they'll believe you because I'm your birth mother."

"Yep."

"You're not going to do that."

"Try me." He smirked at her.

Most definitely Killian's kid too.

Emma tapped the phone against her palm. She was long past the days when a smirk could work on her, especially not a smirk from a nine-year-old. He had at least four more years before that one would work on any girls. Though, she had no doubt that it would probably as big a hit as his father's had been.

"You're pretty good," she said, leaning down to meet his eyes. His smile died and a little part of her died too, but she needed to get this kid back to the people he belonged with and she couldn't do that until she had information from him. "But here's the thing—there's not a lot that I'm great at in life, but I have one skill." She smiled. "We'll call it a superpower: I can tell when anyone is lying and you, kid, are." She hit the call button again.

Henry's voice cut over the dial tone. "Wait," he said, big, green eyes shining up at her. "Please come home with me. Please."

His smirk might not be fully mature yet, but the innocent kid routine? Oh, he had that one down pat.

"Where's home?" Emma asked before she could think about the words coming out of her mouth.

"Storybrooke, Maine." Henry gave a hopeful little half smile.

"Storybrooke?" Her gut clenched. She hadn't heard that name in ten years. "Seriously?"

Henry nodded.

Emma almost asked him to repeat the name, just in case she heard him wrong. Of all the places he could be from, he was from the one place she'd tried so hard to find…and the one place she'd given up on.

She thought Killian made it up.

Would he be there?

Emma shut that thought down. No way. He'd just been spinning her another fine story all those years ago to get what he wanted. She had no doubt that he'd moved on, found some other unsuspecting blonde to team up with and lead on until he got tired of her. A quiet town hadn't sounded like Killian's style then and no way was now.

Besides, all she had to do was get the kid back to Storybrooke and then she could head back to Boston.

Back…here.

"Alrighty then," she said. "Let's get you back to Storybrooke."

# # #

Henry wasn't a bad kid, as far as kids went. He waited patiently while she changed, asked where her bathroom was before they left—judging by what was left in the juice bottle, that was a good call on his part—and buckled his seat belt without her having to ask before settling against the window and pulling a giant, hardcover book out of his bag. Emma caught a flash of gold foiling on the cover, but didn't get a chance to read the title before Henry flipped it open and settled against the door, tilting the book to catch the street lights as they drove.

A real mom would have told him there wasn't enough light to read by.

Emma Swan was not a real mom.

That had been the whole point of giving him up for adoption.

"I'm hungry," Henry said as they pulled onto the freeway. "Can we stop somewhere?"

"This is not a road trip. We are not stopping for snacks." That sounded stern and vaguely parental. Hell, just being in the car with him was vaguely parental.

"Why not?"

"Quit complaining, kid. Remember, I could have put you on a bus." Emma shot him a glance and regretted it. He looked up at her with those happy, hopeful eyes. She needed him to understand this was a one-time thing, this was not a promise to stay. After this, she was out of his life. "I still can."

Henry scowled. "You know, I have a name. It's Henry."

Emma held in a groan of frustration. Her kid was apparently the kind of kid that took candy from strangers. Although, if this town was as quaint as the name suggested, he probably didn't know what a stranger was. How had he gotten this far?

"What's that?" Emma asked as Henry settled back against the seat.

"I'm not sure you're ready," he said, like he was the adult.

Emma glanced at the book. He had the cover at an angle, and she could see enough of the title now to guess what it said.

 _Once Upon a Time_.

"I'm not ready for some fairy tales?"

Henry quirked an eyebrow, pity on his small face. "They're not fairy tales. They're true. Every story in this book actually happened."

"Of course they did."

"Use your superpower," Henry said. "See if I'm lying."

He had her there.

Emma sighed. "Just because you believe something, doesn't make it true."

"That's exactly what makes it true," Henry said with more conviction than she'd ever heard coming from an adult.

This was normal for a kid, right? Some of the most resilient kids she'd known in the system posssessed the best imaginations. Nothing bothered them for long, they could go into that world in their head and just hang out there when things got bad. Or maybe it was a family trait. Killian had never been one to talk about his past, not beyond the few vague details that slipped during the months she lived with him, but she still remembered the stories he spun on the nights the nightmares kept her from sleeping.

 _I'm pretty sure that's not how it went, Killian._

 _And how would you know, Swan? Were you there?_

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. It took a long time for her to escape the pain from those memories and she would not start reliving them now.

"You should know better than anyone," Henry said, drawing Emma's attention back to the present.

"Why's that?"

"Because you're in this book too." His earnest eyes met her startled glance.

This kid had one hell of an imagination.

It worried Emma. Such a vehement dismissal of reality couldn't be healthy even for a nine-year-old.

"Oh, kid, you've got problems."

"Yep," Henry replied beaming up at her. "And you're going to fix them." He returned to reading, leaving Emma alone with the silence.

Starting another conversation tempted her. Silence meant time to think and time to think meant thinking about things she wanted left in the past. However, it appeared conversation held just as many dangers as silence. Learning more about the kid—and about that world inside his head—would only make it harder for her to let him go and that was the whole point of this escapade, wasn't it?

A look over at Henry made Emma's decision for her.

He was asleep.

Time with her own thoughts it was, then.

Emma focused on the road, Maine was a long way away and she needed to stay sharp.

# # #

Maine was apparently far enough away that it was subjected to whole different weather pattern than Boston tonight. The rain started pounding on the roof as they crossed the state line, loud drumbeats that roused Henry from his slumber. He sat up, his book sliding from his lap and thumping on the floor of the car.

"Good," Emma said, "I was going to wake you up soon anyways. I need directions."

"Um," Henry said. "It's near the coast?"

"Really, kid?" Emma said. She loosened her grip on the steering wheel. Henry was nine, she shouldn't be too hard on him. "You don't have anything else? Do you remember any road signs? Any other stops?"

Henry screwed his face up, rubbing at his eyes as he thought. "We stopped in a place called Belfast not too long after Storybrooke."

"Belfast? Isn't that in Ireland?"

Henry shrugged, a helpless grimace on his face. Emma resisted the urge to grumble. Instead she gestured to the glove box and pulled the car over on the side of I-95. "Hand me the map and the flashlight, kid."

Henry obeyed.

Emma searched for Storybrooke, but couldn't find it. She did however find Belfast and they were off again. Henry dozed off again after about fifteen minutes and Emma decided she could let him sleep. That was a mom thing to do, right? Then again, why did she care? She wasn't here to do mom things, she was just the delivery girl. Someone probably waited right now, doing very mom things as she wondered where her nine-year-old was.

At least, that was what Emma hoped.

She hoped he hadn't ended up in a home like she did. Or worse, ended up bouncing from home to home. When she gave him up, she knew that was a possibility. But he was a baby. Babies got adopted fast.

 _You didn't._

Emma bit her lip.

Nine years and not once had she questioned her choice. Until now. Until she met Henry.

Belfast came and went. Emma woke Henry, asking him more questions about where they were going. He provided little help and Emma had decided to pull off at the next town and find somewhere to get directions when she saw the sign that said "Welcome to Storybrooke".

"Well, I'll be damned," Emma said.

The road remained in the shelter of the trees for another mile or so before it rolled around a bend and all of Storybrooke lay before them, a perfect view of the sleeping town and the harbor afforded by the sloping of the hill. Emma caught her breath. No wonder Henry believed in magic. If she'd grown up somewhere like here, she might too.

She drove into town, past all the honeycombs of small streets and the houses with their white picket fences and kitschy garden decorations. The streetlights cast glimmering reflections off of the rain-soaked streets.

Yeah, no wonder Henry was so trusting. He probably knew everyone in this town, by sight if not my name.

"Okay, kid, how about an address?"

"Forty-four Not-Telling-You Street."

Emma hit the brakes so hard she was lucky they didn't spin. Henry stared straight ahead, the stoic look on his face so infuriating Emma wanted to shake him. She got out of the car instead. Water splashed up over the toe of her boot as Emma slammed the car door shut and took several deep breaths, resisting the urge to kick the tire. She probably would have if Henry hadn't gotten out of the car and trotted around to her side.

"Look. It's been a long night and it's almost…" Emma paused, staring up at the tall clock tower. The old-fashioned kind, the kind she had imagined when she'd watched movies like _Anne of Green Gables_ as a kid, three stories up, the large black numbers easily visible against the stark white clock face. "8:15?"

Henry nodded. "That clock hasn't moved in my whole life. Time's frozen here."

"Excuse me?"

"The Evil Queen did it with her curse," Henry said with the same innocent, earnest voice he used when he said she was in his book of fairy tales. He tugged on the end of his scarf. "She sent everyone from the Enchanted Forest here."

Emma crossed her arms. It had to be past midnight and the damp breeze cut right through her jeans. "Okay," she said, hoping if she played along she might get something useful. She just had to imagine her kid was a bonds jumper—a very short bonds jumper. "The Evil Queen sent a bunch of fairytale characters here with her curse."

"Yeah, and now they're trapped."

"Frozen in time. Stuck in Storybrooke, Maine. That's what you're going with?" Emma couldn't help it. It was late, she was tired, and her jeans were sticking to the place on her thigh where the wine bled through her dress. And Henry was making this far more difficult than he first let on.

"It's true!"

"Then why doesn't everybody just leave?"

"They can't. If they try, bad things happen."

Emma had to hand it to the kid, he knew this story inside and out. She knew professional cons that weren't this good. Before she could come up with a new tack to wring information out of Henry, someone called out his name. Emma found a tall man in a long coat hurrying toward them. Despite his height, he didn't feel threatening, not with his plaid scarf and thick-rimmed glasses. Even with the massive umbrella he looked more like a frazzled professor than a midnight mugger.

A frazzled professor out for a walk with his dog.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked in a rough, slight nasal voice. "Is everything alright?

"I'm fine, Archie," Henry replied. The Dalmatian whined, snuffling at Henry's jacket. Henry's quick response told Emma the two knew each other well.

"Who's this?" Archie asked with a tentative smile and Emma's approximation of Storybrooke's population shrank.

"Just someone trying to give him a ride home."

"She's my mom, Archie," Henry said before Emma could steer the conversation to a more constructive topic. Like where his real mother (or father or both) lived.

"Oh. I see." Archie's smile faltered a little, his face shifting to perfect understanding far too quickly for Emma's liking. A million questions flashed in his eyes.

Emma beat him to the punch. "You know where he lives?"

"Yeah, sure. Just, ah, right up on Mifflin street," he said, gesturing and then nodding up the street, like he wasn't sure Emma saw him the first time. "The Mayor's house is the biggest one on the block."

Emma turned on Henry who suddenly found his sneakers enthralling. "You're the Mayor's kid?"

"Uh, maybe."

"Hey, where were you today, Henry?" Archie asked, cutting in on Emma's first real scolding. "Because you missed your session."

Henry fidgeted, bouncing on the balls of his feet and swinging his arms. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I went on a field trip."

A blind would spot that lie. Archie sighed, hiking up his slacks a little as he crouched down to Henry's level. Emma was impressed, most adults didn't usually take the time to talk level to level with a kid.

"Henry, what did I tell you about lying?" Archie tilted his head, eyes still on Henry who stared up at him sheepishly. "Giving into one's dark side never accomplishes anything."

"Oookay," Emma said, cutting off the lecture she heard coming. It was late after all. "Well, I really should be getting him home."

"Yeah, sure. Well, listen. Um. Have a good night and, uh, you be good, Henry." The man adjusted the leash in his hands before reaching out to give Henry's arm a quick pat. He smiled affectionately as he left, heading down the street.

"So that's your shrink."

Henry pouted. "I'm not crazy."

"Didn't say that." Emma shrugged, looking at Archie's retreating back and his now umbrella bobbing gently in time with his steps. "Just, he doesn't seem 'cursed' to me. Maybe he's just trying to help you."

Henry shook his head. "He's the one who needs help because he doesn't know." The earnestness returned, making Emma half wish that she believed him.

"That he's a fairy tale character?"

"None of them do. They don't remember who they are." He gave her an exasperated look and returned to his side of the car.

Emma chuckled. "Convenient. Alright, I'll play. Who's he supposed to be?"

"Jiminy Cricket."

"Right, the lying thing," Emma said, pulling her door open. "Thought your nose grew a little bit."

"I'm not Pinocchio!" Henry emphasized his declaration with the thud of his car door, leaning across his seat and looking up at Emma with reproachful eyes.

"Course you're not. Because that would be ridiculous."

Emma was starting to think 'ridiculous' was Henry's favorite word.

He definitely got that from Killian.

# # #

Henry's house loomed over the street, the sprawling, white Victorian structure visible over top the massive shrubs blocking the yard from view. Whoever this mayor was, he or she liked their privacy. The knot in Emma's gut loosened a little, seeing where her kid had grown-up. At least, he grew up better off than her in at least one regard.

"Please don't take me back there," Henry said, trudging dejectedly next to her.

"I have to. I'm sure your parents are worried sick about you."

"I don't have parents. Just a mom and she's evil."

Emma stopped, turning to Henry. "Evil?" she asked. "That's a bit extreme, isn't it?"

"She is," Henry said, sticking his hands in his pockets and kicking at the ground. "She doesn't love me. She only pretends to."

Emma heart stuttered in her chest, the unease returning full force. Henry had to be exaggerating, the kid owned the most active imagination Emma ever encountered. Probably, he was just pissed about too many chores. He had to be wrong. She _needed_ him to be wrong.

She bent down, trying to catch his eyes. "Kid… I'm sure that's not true."

As if in answer to all her questions, the door opened.

"Henry!" An elegant woman in a form-fitting, gray dress paused for a moment in the doorway before rushing forward. The look on her face stabbed Emma with guilt. Why hadn't she thought to have Henry call his parents before they left Boston? Moms—real moms—were supposed to worry about you and lose sleep when you stayed out too late…or trotted off to another city. Henry's mom ran down the walkway, her perfectly coiffed hair bouncing with each click of her high-heeled shoes. The woman looked the picture of a professional mom, the kind of mom that killed at PTA meetings. Throwing her arms around Henry, the woman asked, "Henry… Are you okay? Where have you been? What happened?"

The concern in her voice wiped away any of Emma's doubts. Henry was wrong, this woman loved him.

Henry jerked away from his mother. "I found my real mom," he spat before ducking past her and running into the house.

Emma cringed. Henry's mom stared at the ground, her shoulders caving a little and Emma's guilt doubled. Along with her frustration with Henry. Here he had a good parent who worried about him and noticed when he went missing, but he went searching for Emma and then used her like a weapon against his mother.

Dodging around the tall, lanky man that stood behind his mother, Henry pelted into the house. Had mom gotten a new boyfriend? That made sense considering Henry's behavior. Kids always challenged changes in the status quo. Maybe he felt left out.

Henry's mom studied Emma as if seeing her for the first time. "Y-you're Henry's birth mother?" she asked, her voice wispy like she still hadn't caught her breath.

"Hi…"

"I'll just go…check on the lad," Mom's mystery man said, interrupting the loud silence hanging between Emma and Henry's mom. "Make sure he's alright."

Another beat of silence passed before Henry's mother offered Emma a tight smile. "How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted?"

"Got anything stronger?" Emma asked.

The woman smiled. "Oh, believe me, I think you'll find my cider quite strong enough."

She turned on her heel, striding toward the door with a confidence that Emma wished she felt right now. Despite the invitation, Emma felt like an intruder as Henry's mom gestured for her to enter. The inside of the house loomed just as large and pristine as the outside, the vaulted ceiling high over Emma's head. A staircase curved up to the second floor. Hardwoods floors gleamed beneath her feet and Emma hoped there wasn't dirt on the bottom of her boots.

"Regina Mills, by the way," the woman said.

"Emma Swan."

Regina nodded. "Give me a moment, I'll get you a glass."

Emma waited, shoving her hands in her back pockets as she resisted the urge to fidget. She wanted to go. Get back in the bug and drive through the night until she got back to her apartment and her bed and her life, but she also wanted to make sure Henry was alright. She needed her doubts soothed, needed to know that for once in her life she did the right thing.

"How did he find me?" Emma asked when Regina clacked back out, two stout glasses in her hand.

"No idea," Regina said. Ice clinked as she prepared their drinks, the stopper on the decanter making a dull pop. "When I adopted him, he was only three weeks old. Records were sealed. I was told the birth mother didn't want to have any contact."

Emma shifted her weight. "You were told right."

"And the father?"

Emma took a breath. She never really thought of Killian as the father of her child. Oh, Henry wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. It took two to tango and all that, but he wasn't any more Henry's father than she was Henry's mother. He gave up that right when he left, just like she gave it up when she gave Henry up. Henry deserved better than both of them.

"There was one," Emma said, desperate to leave this subject and all the pain that came with it behind.

Regina set the decanter down, staring at her own reflection for a moment before asking, "Do I need to be worried about him?"

"Nope. He doesn't even know."

Regina turned, both drinks clutched elegantly in her hands. She appraised Emma, one eyebrow quirking up as she approached with the drinks.

"Do I need to be worried about you, Miss Swan?"

Emma accepted the drink Regina offered her. "Absolutely not."

Unsure of what else to say, Emma sipped her drink. Thankfully Regina's mystery man chose that moment to reappear.

"Madam Mayor, you can relax," he said. "Other than being a tired little boy, Henry's fine."

"Thank you, Sheriff."

The Sheriff. Now that Emma could see him in the light, the shiny gold badge was hard to miss. So not the boyfriend. The man hesitated a moment before nodding to Emma and striding from the house, pulling the door closed behind him.

"I'm sorry he dragged you out of your life," Regina said, leading Emma to another room. A library. Filled with shelf after shelf of books, the musty smell of old paper permeated the small room. "I really don't know what's gotten into him."

Emma shrugged. "Kid's having a rough time. It happens."

"You have to understand, ever since I became mayor, balancing things has been tricky."

The door closed behind Regina with a snick as Emma took a seat on an ivory sofa. Regina walked past her, though Emma didn't see what she was doing. She took a sip of the cider, trying not to fidget. This room was very much not her type of room.

"You have a job, I assume?"

Emma glanced back, setting her glass on the table. "Uh, I keep busy, yeah."

"Imagine having another one on top of it. That's being a single mom." Regina sank gracefully to the chaise across from Emma, giving a little tug to the hem of her skirt as she smiled tightly. "So I push for order. Am I strict? I suppose. But I do it for his own good. I want Henry to excel in life. I don't think that makes me evil, do you?"

If Emma didn't know better, she might suspect Regina had eavesdropped on her conversation. The comment was that specific. And yet, there look on Regina's face spoke earnestness. Emma hadn't caught her in a lie yet.

Emma reached for the glass of cider again. Regina was right, it did have a bit of kick to it.

"I'm sure he's just saying that because of the fairy tale thing."

"What fairy tale thing?" Regina asked, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

"Oh, you know. His book." That statement provided only more confusion, so Emma elaborated, "How he thinks everyone's a cartoon character from it. Like his shrink is Jiminy Cricket?"

Regina's confusion intensified. "I'm sorry. I really have no idea what you're talking about." She shook her head, delicate earrings swaying with the movement of her head.

Alright, time to get out of this house and away from this woman who was so well put together she made Emma feel like a child. Her questions about Henry's well-being disappeared with every passing moment. She had no reason to stay and meddle.

Emma shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. "You know what? It's none of my business. He's your kid. And I really should be heading back." She lifted the glass to her lips, eager to finish off the cider.

"Of course," Regina said, rising immediately and going to the door.

Emma threw back a quick swallow, taken aback by how quickly the other woman reacted. It was late, Emma reasoned, Regina probably wanted to go upstairs and fall asleep herself. Emma couldn't blame her. She wasn't looking forward to the drive home, she'd need to find a gas station or a 24-hour truck stop before she got too far.

With one last "Thank you", Regina saw her out and the door thudded shut behind her.

The house seemed a little too quiet as Emma crunched back down the path to the street. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was watching her. She found the lighted window almost immediately, the small, dark head visible for only a moment before Henry disappeared and the light turned off.

 _Bye, kid._

"Sweet boy, wouldn't you say." The voice nearly scared Emma out of her skin. She whirled, keys already clutched in her fingers to find the Sheriff leaning against her car. He nodded, shoving his hands further into his pockets. "I'm Graham, by the way."

"Emma," she replied. "I have a long drive ahead of me, so if you could find somewhere else to …"

"I think it might be better if you spent the night." Graham uncrossed his long legs, impressing Emma with the way he kept his eyes on hers, instead of driving home his meaning by a long, lingering glance down her body.

"That's kind of forward," she said.

The sheriff shook his head. "I know Regina's drinks, I'd hate to get out the breathalyzer." He gestured up the road with one hand. "There's a quaint little B&B up the road, Granny's, it's a lovely place."

Emma was tempted, by more than just the idea of a bed and good night's sleep before she drove back to Boston. Graham was easy on the eyes and Emma almost asked if he'd like to join her in that room at "Granny's", see what it felt like to run her fingers through that dark curly hair of his. The perfect thing for her, one night and she would never have to see him again. Something about him reminded her of Killian though. The accent maybe. Or the way he'd called Henry lad. Or maybe just Henry showing up tonight and dredging up all her old demons.

No, she needed to get as far away from this place as possible. Away from her kid and away from her memories.

"I hate to disappoint you, but I only had one drink," Emma said, stepping closer, shoulders thrown back, doing her best to convince him that he didn't want to mess with her. "I'd blow a .06 right now. Well, below the limit."

Graham nodded, moving out of her way and heading to the squad car parked behind her. "Drive safely, Ms. Swan."

"Thanks," Emma said, sliding into the seat and starting the car.

She drove down the street, so intent on getting out of this town that she missed Henry's book on the passenger seat until she almost reached the town line. A glint of light drew her eye and she glanced down to see Henry's story book lying on the seat. Emma sighed.

"Sneaky bastard."

Before she could contemplate whether or not mailing it was an option, she glanced up.

A shaggy, white wolf stood dead-center in the road, staring her down with strange eyes. Emma jerked the wheel aside on instinct, the headlights flashing up on the "Welcome to Storybrooke" sign as her car's bumper crunched against it. The force threw Emma forward and her head slammed into the steering wheel.

# # #

The stars shone especially bright tonight.

Killian knew all of them by now. A proper sailor should always know the stars of whatever realm he inhabited. Luckily for him, he had plenty of time and—thanks to the abandoned library—the means to learn the ones in this realm. Some of them sported stories he recognized, even if he hadn't know the constellations at first. After all, any mythical pirate worth his salt knew of Pegasus—though the bloody constellation above him looking nothing like a winged horse in his opinion.

Still, they were a nice sight as he lay stretched on the deck of his boat.

It took him months, when he first came to Storybrooke to choose one.

At first, he feared getting caught by the owners of these vessels, but he noticed right off that few people ever came down to the docks. Just the harbormaster and the few fishers, and he quickly figured out which boats were theirs. The rest of the boats were woefully neglected and Killian hopped from boat to boat, finding occupation in caring for them. And as if turned out, he needn't have feared the harbormaster noticing.

After his first month in Storybrooke, the man approached him and handed him a slip of paper, claiming it was his pay. That threw Killian through a loop, and not just because he wasn't sure what to do with a bill of exchange in this realm. The man talked as though Killian had always worked at the docks, caring for the boats—none of them qualified as a ship in Killian's opinion.

After a year of hopping from boat to boat, determining which ones best suited his preferences he finally chose a little ketch that had seen better days, but sported blessedly few modern contraptions for him to deal with when he went sailing. It did have a fully functional head which pleased him, even if the shower was a little cramped. Nothing compared to the Jolly Roger, but it had a kitchen and a bed and he could fall asleep rocked in the embrace of the ocean. The name of this boat, however, was a bit unfortunate and Killian groaned to think how clever whoever came up with the name _Miss Guided_ thought they must be.

Tonight the sea was still despite the earlier rain. He'd thought to seek some comfort staring up at the stars, but he found little. Today had been the day. In an uncharacteristic move, Killian spent all morning, afternoon, and evening in town waiting and watching. Considering that Emma owned no magic bracelet to weave her into the fabric of Regina's spell, he expected her arrival to cause some disturbance.

The only disturbance he noted was some business with the mayor's boy, though Killian hadn't bothered to find out what it was.

And then, like he did every year on October 18th, Killian returned to his boat and got blindingly drunk. Fall into the ocean and drown blindingly drunk, though he had escaped that fate so far. Drunk enough he could remember Emma without remembering that he remembered her in the morning. It was the one day of the year that he allowed himself to think about her and about how walking away still haunted him.

He told himself he was upset because he buggered his chance at revenge when he left her behind.

This drunk though, he admitted that was a lie.

"Happy Birthday, Swan," he said, raising the bottle of rum and knocking back the last little bit. He hoped she had a good birthday. That she'd found someone more worthy of a princess' affections, who would truly cherish her and keep their word. She deserved that.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be done with this waiting.

To hell or high water, he'd get his revenge and that would be the end of it. Whether the Crocodile remembered or not.

He'd waited ten bloody years for this.

Bloody good waste of ten years.

 _Bloody good waste of time you could have had with Emma_.

He shoved those thoughts away as he stumbled below deck. Emma held no sway over him anymore. She wasn't a part of his life in any way. He waited for her to show up so that he could have his revenge good and proper and she didn't even have the decency to show up to fulfill her destiny.

And he hardly ever thought about her anyways. He was just moping because he was drunk and it was her birthday and the starkest reminder of the year he had spent—wasted—with Emma.

Tomorrow.

Yes, his wait would be over tomorrow.

* * *

 **Woohoo! We're into the real story now! I'll warn you now, these first few chapters are going to involve a sad amount of Killian and look almost exactly like the the first few episodes. Killian doesn't really start to affect the plot until we get to episode 5 or 6, but it has been interesting to see how Emma' motivations become even stronger with him involved. It's been a fun thing to navigate.**

 **Also, for anyone worried that Killian's going to repeat all of Neal's mistakes. Don't worry, Killian gets to make his own. Neal still gets to be Neal. I hate to give anything away, but I'll warn you, if you don't like seeing Emma with ANYONE besides Killian, this might not be the story for you. Emma and Emma's feelings are stubborn and complicated. When I said slow burn, I meant slooooooooowwww burn. But if I do it right, it'll be worth it (I have reasonable confidence that I'll be able to do it right).**

 **Anyways, please let me know what you thought! And than you for everyone who is following.**


	3. Chapter 3

Emma dreamed of dwarves and little birds working together to sweep the floor. Disorienting to say the least, especially when she woke and the whistling from her dreams kept going. Her eyes snapped open as she sought the source of the noise. Through metal bars thicker than her finger, Emma caught sight of the man in the other cell.

The whistling cut off mid-note. "What are you lookin' at, sister?" he demanded. Even slouched against the wall, Emma could make out his stocky build, topped by a bald head and a thick, black beard with graying patches at the corners of his mouth. His forehead appeared permanently furrowed.

He glared at her.

"Hey, Leroy!"

Emma's head whipped toward the new voice. It belonged to another bald man, though this one was considerably older with a ring of white fringe above his ears that matched the goatee on his chin. He wore a clean, grey uniform like you saw on mechanics in TV shows. The name "Marco" was stitched in curly, black letters on his name badge. He stopped whatever he was doing in the cupboard and came a little closer to the two cells, his wrinkled eyes fixed on Emma's cell mate.

"Manners. We have a guest." He did funny things with his vowels as he spoke, stretching them out in a way that sounded vaguely European, like someone from Spain or Italy. Smiling at Emma, Marco went on, "So you are, uh, Henry's mother? How lovely for him to have you back in his life."

Emma pressed her fingers to her pounding head. "Actually, I was just dropping him off."

Leroy rolled his eyes. "Tch, don't blame ya. They're all brats, who needs 'em." He shrugged.

"Well, I'd give anything for one," Marco said, lowering the little canteen cup in his hand as he shot Leroy another dirty look. Sadly, he smiled at Emma. "My wife and I, we tried for many years. But, uh, it was not meant to be."

"Well cry me a river."

"Leroy!" The sheriff strode in, flipping through keys on his key ring without even look down as he approached the Leroy's cell. Emma couldn't help noting that he was even more ruggedly handsome in the morning light. If she wasn't so pissed off, she might appreciate that a little more. Graham unlocked Leroy's door. "If I'm going to let you out, you need to behave. Put on a smile and stay out of trouble."

Leroy bared his teeth in something more grimace than smile as Graham opened the door, sauntering out of the cell with heavy footsteps.

Emma leaned against the bars of her cell, scowling at Graham. "Seriously?"

"Regina's drinks are a little stronger than we thought," Graham said, turning back to her. He fidgeted, tapping his keys against his other hand.

"I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf standing in the middle of the road."

"A wolf. Right."

Graham looked like he would say more, but at that moment, heels echoed down the hall.

"Graham!" Regina strode into the room, a large, black purse in her hand. "Henry's run away again. We have to…" The woman froze as her eyes locked on Emma, her pace doubling. "What is she doing here? Do you know where he is?" she asked, her pitch rising with every word.

Emma straightened, grabbing hold of the cell bars. "Lady, I haven't seen him since I dropped him at your house. And I have a pretty good alibi."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't in his room this morning."

"Did you try his friends?"

"He doesn't really have any," Regina said. "He's kind of a loner."

Emma found that hard to believe. Henry seemed like the kind of kid that could make friends with a lamp post. "Every kid has friends. Did you check his computer? If he's close to someone, he'd be emailing them."

"And you know this how?" Regina asked, tilting her head.

"Finding people is what I do." Emma took a step closer, resting her chin on the cross bar. Maybe she could work this situation to her advantage. She might be a crap mom, but she was one heck of a bail bonds person. "Here's an idea. How about you guys let me out and I'll help you find him."

Fifteen minutes she sat in Henry's room—it was a nice room, Emma couldn't help noticing, she would have loved having this much space when she was a kid—with Graham crouched at her shoulder while Regina wore holes into the carpet with those sensible, black heels of hers. The kid didn't have a password, so Emma thought her job might be easy until she clicked on his email.

Empty.

"Smart kid. Cleared his inbox," she said. With a sly smile, she pulled a USB drive out of her pocket. One of the nice things about always being ready to roll out was that she kept the tools of her trade close at hand. "I'm smart too. A little hard disk recovery utility I like to use…" She slid the drive home, sitting back as it worked its magic.

"I'm a bit more old fashioned in my techniques," Graham said as the device booted into the system. The screen went black. He was close enough that Emma could smell his cologne, not too much, not too little. Just right. "Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing."

Emma didn't take her eyes off the screen. "You're on salary. I get paid for delivery. Pounding the pavement is not a luxury that I get," she said, watching the white text scrolling up. A few other things flashed across the screen and then, Bingo! Emails restored. Emma leaned forward, scanning Henry's inbox. She clicked on one that looked promising, scanning the contents quickly. "Huh. His receipt for a website – . It's expensive. He has a credit card?"

Regina leaned in over Graham. "He's ten."

"Well, he used one. Let's pull up a transaction record." Scrolling down she found the inevitable receipt copy and clicked view. "Mary Margaret Blanchard… Who's Mary Margaret Blanchard?"

Regina's mouth tensed for a minute before she answered, "Henry's teacher."

 **# # #**

Regina proved a difficult woman to keep up with. It was only at Emma's insistence that the woman allowed Emma to accompany her to Henry's school. And the minute they were inside the school, Regina took off, clacking at full speed down the hallway, though her tight black dress and tailored gray blazer making her seem out of place. And on top of that, they arrived just as the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Emma managed to keep Regina in her sights, but the sea of children streaming out of the classrooms set her back a little. Though, she didn't miss much. Regina's strident voice echoed down the hallway as Emma navigated through all the small bodies.

"Where's my son?"

"Henry?" a light, low voice replied. "I assumed he was home sick with you."

Emma finally made into the room just as Regina slammed her bag down on one of the little desks. It made a satisfying thwack. The teacher's eyes flicked to Emma as she entered, and then back to Regina, who still spoke.

"You think I'd be here if he was? Did you give him your credit card so he can find her?"

The teacher—Mary Margaret—glanced uncertainly at Emma again. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm his… I'm his…" The words stuck in her throat. She couldn't get them out. He was her kid, she was his birth mother, nothing would ever change that. But still, somehow saying the words…made everything real. It was one thing to have it thrown in her face by others and a completely different thing to say it herself.

Regina harbored no such qualms.

"The woman who gave him up for adoption," she said, still squared off against the school teacher.

Mary Margaret gave a little sigh, immediately pulling her purse off of her shoulder and starting to dig through it. Emma recognized that look. She'd seen it on more than a few faces when she tracked down bail jumpers who had started new lives.

"You don't know anything about this do you?"

"No, unfortunately not," the teacher said, pulling her wallet out of the bag. Pressing her lips together, she displayed the inside for Emma and Regina. Her ID was still in the little windowed pocket, but the other side of the wallet was conspicuously empty. Mary Margaret shook her head. "Clever boy…I should never have given him that book."

"What in the hell is this book I keep hearing about?" Regina demanded, her voice echoing through the room, making Emma jump.

"Just some old stories I gave him," the teacher said, remaining soft spoken even in the wake of Regina's ire. She met the mayor's eyes without wavering. "As you well know, Henry is a special boy. So smart, so creative, and as you might be aware, lonely." Mary Margaret's voice dropped low and she paused, letting the silence hang between herself and Regina. Emma had to give her credit, this petite woman had nerves of steel. "He needed it."

"What he needs is a dose of reality. This is a waste of time." Regina spun on her heel, her handbag knocking a stack of books off a desk as she strode toward the door. She shoved past Emma without even looking at her, her voice tight as she said, "Have a nice trip back to Boston."

Emma crouched down at the same time as Mary Margaret, reaching for the books nearest her. "Sorry to bother you."

"No it's… It's okay," she said. "I hear this is partially my fault." She offered a small smile. Mary Margaret was nothing like any of the teacher's Emma ever had. With her dark pixie cut and sparkling green eyes. She didn't dress like any teacher Emma had ever seen either. Well, maybe the pretty gray cardigan fit the bill, but the soft white top and gray A-line skirt would have looked more at place in a garden party, despite the muted colors.

"How's the book supposed to help?" Emma asked as Mary Margaret took several books from her.

"What do you think stories are for?" The teacher gave her a look, like she expected Emma to supply the answer before standing and carrying the books over to a cabinet. "These stories are classics," she said as she put the books down and came back to Emma. "There's a reason we all know them. They're a way for us to deal with our world. A world that doesn't always make sense. See, Henry hasn't had the easiest life." She followed Emma out the door, her hand clutching the strap of her purse.

Emma stuck her hands in the back of her pocket. "Yeah, she's kind of a hardass."

"No, it's more than her," Mary Margaret said, shaking her head. The footsteps echoed through the hall, a rather colorless little set up, melding into the general noise of the main hallway as Mary Margaret walked with Emma to the main door. "He's like any adopted child. He wrestles with that most basic question they all inevitably face – why would anyone give me away?" Mary Margaret sucked in a sharp breath, turning to Emma, a grimace on her face. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean in any way to judge you."

"It's okay," Emma said quietly. She pushed away the feelings Mary Margaret's words stirred up. Not any guilt over Henry. That still was the right decision, even if Regina was a bit strict for her tastes—no, Emma knew what Mary Margaret spoke of far too well.

She didn't like thinking about it.

"Look," Mary Margaret said, her eyes still on Emma. "I gave the book to him because I wanted Henry to have the most important thing anyone can have. Hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing."

"You know where he is, don't you?"

The teacher nodded. "You might want to check his castle."

# # #

Henry's castle turned out to be a faded wooden playground, complete with a red metal slide and four "towers" with uneven shingles. Henry sat, kicking his legs over the side, right where Mary Margaret said he would be. He didn't acknowledge Emma as she trudged up the three steps and circled round to sit next to him, holding out the book.

"You left this in my car," she said.

Henry took the battered old book without looking at her. The salty air stung against her face as she followed his gaze. His perch afforded a good view of the clock tower, which still read 8:15.

Emma pulled a lock of hair out of her mouth. "Still hasn't moved, huh?"

"I was hoping that when I brought you back, things would change here," Henry said. He sounded stuffy, probably from sitting in the chilly breeze all day. She needed to get him home before he ended up sick. "That the final battle would begin."

"I'm not fighting any battles, kid." Emma sighed.

"Yes, you are," he replied, finally looking at her. "Because it's your destiny. You're going to bring back the happy endings."

Every word rang with conviction. Emma's stomach plummeted. She wished she was worthy of this kid's faith, that she could live up to the idea of her he'd constructed in his head. He wasn't making what she came here to say any easier.

"Can you cut it with the book crap?" Her tone bit more than she meant it to. She was trying to do the right thing. Trying to give him the answers she would have given anything for at his age.

"You don't have to be hostile," he said. And Emma hated that a nine-year-old sounded more reasonable than she did at the moment. He gave her a half smile. "I know you like me – I can tell. You're just pushing me away because I make you feel guilty. It's okay. I know why you gave me away. You wanted to give me my best chance."

Henry's words stole the breath right out of her, pulling it out to mingle with the smell of old seaweed that always hung around beaches. Emma looked away, unnerved by how well Henry could read her thoughts when they were such a jumble inside of her.

"How do you know that?" she asked, staring at the sleepy town.

"Because it's the same reason Snow White gave you away."

That brought Emma back to reality real fast.

"Listen to me, kid," she said, trying to sound stern. Her voice still wavered a little, she was angry. On top of being stubborn, this kid was poking at feelings Emma thought she shut away a long time ago. "I'm not in any book. I'm a real person. And I'm no savior. You were right about one thing, though. I wanted you to have your best chance. But it's not with me." She paused, watching that sink in. She hated doing this to him, but the sooner he stopped seeing her as some magical solution and realized she would only let him down, the better. "Come on, let's go."

Emma jumped down from the little bridge, her boots sinking in the sand.

"Please don't take me back there," he said, scrambling to his feet. The old wood creaked underneath his feet as he pounded down the steps and came after her. "Just stay with me for one week. That's all I ask. One week, and you'll see I'm not crazy."

"I have to get you back to your mom," Emma said, hands on her hips.

"You don't know what it's like with her. My life sucks!"

"Oh, you want to know what sucking is?" Emma nearly shouted. The words spilled out, her voice rising with each one. "Being left abandoned on the side of a freeway. My parents didn't even bother to drop me off at a hospital. I ended up in the foster system and I had a family until I was three, but then they had their own so they sent me back." Henry's lips pressed together, his chin wobbling as he listened. Emma felt guilty all over again. He hadn't asked her to dump all her baggage on him. She reeled her emotions in before she made both of them cry—and before she told him things he was better off not knowing. Taking a breath, Emma braced her hands on her knees. "Look, your mom is trying her best. I know it's hard and I know sometimes you think she doesn't love you, but at least she wants you."

"Your parents didn't leave you on the side of a freeway. That's just where you came through."

"What?"

"The wardrobe," he said, his voice vaguely chiding, like they'd gone over all of this before. And maybe they had, she just hadn't been listening. "When you went through the wardrobe you appeared in the street. Your parents were trying to save you from the curse."

Emma laughed. That was it. She couldn't do this anymore. It was time to get this kid back home to the mom that worried about him and get on with her life. Far away from this sleepy town.

"Sure they were. Come on, Henry."

She turned back to her car, not checking to see if Henry was following. If he didn't, she knew where to find him. All it took was a trip to the sheriff's station and a call to the mayor. Emma heard his small shoes pelt down the path beside her and then the warmth of small fingers slipping into her hand. She almost lost her step as they started down the slight hill. Henry squeezed her hand and Emma couldn't find it in her to let go.

She could give him this.

# # #

Henry ran up the brick walkway ahead of Emma, his eyes on ground the entire time. He didn't say a word as he slipped past Regina, just like he hadn't said a word to Emma the whole ride back to his house. His mother watched him, a mixed look of relief and consternation adorning her face as her eyes tracked her son through the door and up the stairs behind her. She followed him a few steps, then turned back to Emma.

Regina smiled slightly, hands finding the bottom of her jacket pockets. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"He's seemed to have taken quite a shine to you."

Emma chuckled. "You know what's kind of crazy?" she asked, pounding her fist lightly against her thigh. God, she fidgeted worse than Henry sometimes. "Yesterday was my birthday and when I blew out the candle on this cupcake I bought myself, I actually made a wish. That I didn't have to be alone on my birthday. And then, Henry showed up." Emma couldn't help it, she smiled too. Maybe she wasn't the miracle Henry was looking for, but he certainly had been hers.

Regina nodded. Her eyes went sharp and steely. "I hope there's no misunderstanding here."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't mistake all this…" Regina gestured vaguely around them, "As invitation back into his life."

"Oh…"

"Miss Swan, you made a decision nine years ago." The woman planted her hands on her hips, leaning ever so slightly forward as she stared Emma down. "And in the last nine years, while you've been…" Regina shrugged. "Well, who knows what you've been doing. I've changed every diaper. Soothed every fever. Endured every tantrum. You may have given birth to him, but he is my son." Her voice dropped dangerously low.

Emma took a step back. "I was not…"

"No!" Regina cut her off, stepping down off the porch, her chin jutting forward as she approached Emma. Emma almost took a step back, she'd seen behavior like this before. In some of her foster homes, when the biggest kid was asserting their territory. "You don't get to speak. You don't get to do anything. You gave up that right when you tossed him away. Do you know what a closed adoption is? It's what you asked for. You have no legal right to Henry and you're going to be held to that. So, I suggest you get in your car, and you leave this town. Because if you don't, I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do." Regina nodded. "Goodbye, Miss Swan."

Emma watched her head back inside, forcing her feet to remain in the same place as she called, "Do you love him?"

Regina paused. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice shooting up on the last word.

"Henry," Emma said softly. "Do you love him?"

"Of course, I love him," Regina replied. She slammed the door behind her, leaving Emma on her own outside.

# # #

 _Granny's_ , the bed and breakfast that Sheriff Graham suggested last night, took two drive-bys to find. Turned out, the actual B&B was hidden behind a fence and a tall hedge and the only reason Emma found it without directions was because it was attached to _Granny's Diner_ and the glowing neon sign caught her eye. Emma pushed past overgrown shrubbery and crunched up the walk.

The B&B looked like someone doused a little woodland cottage with Miracle-Gro and forgot about it. Some of the siding was missing and the paint looked like it had once been dark green, but had faded to a sickly gray. The wind blew through the yard, skittering leaves across the steps and making the sign that hung above the door swing as Emma crossed under it. Still, lights shone through the window as she reached for the door handle.

Raised voices greeted her as she stepped inside, drowning out the creak of the door.

"You're out all night, and now you're going out again," a deep, matronly voice called.

The voice that shouted back was higher and, if possible, angrier. "I should have moved to Boston." A young woman, roughly Emma's age with dark hair and dark clothes rushed down a set of stairs, followed by a busty older woman with her grey hair pulled into a high bun. Neither of them paid Emma any attention.

"I'm sorry that my heart attack interfered with your plans to sleep your way down the eastern seaboard," the older woman said. Granny, Emma assumed.

"Excuse me?" Emma cut in before the older woman could follow her prey into the next room. "I'd like a room."

"Really?" Granny said, staring at Emma for a moment. The other woman—her granddaughter maybe?—clipped back into the doorway, her eyes just as wide as Granny's. Like a switch flipped, Granny went from surprised to all bustle and business. "Would you like a forest view or a square view?" she asked, her fuzzy, lilac sweater swishing as she disappeared into a small office and reappeared with a ledger in her hands. "Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square but, as friends do, I'll wave it."

"Square is fine," Emma said.

Granny nodded, dropping the ledger down on the desk. Dust flew up from the surface, but Granny didn't seem to notice as she flipped the book open and picked up her pen. "Now, what's the name?"

"Swan. Emma Swan," Emma replied as the door creaked behind her.

"Emma," a male voice said from right behind her.

Emma whirled around, surprised to find that the door opening had not been the granddaughter making her escape while Emma distracted Granny. She met the eyes of an older man, with salt and pepper—still mostly pepper—hair and a thin, hooked nose. He smiled.

"What a lovely name."

"Thanks," Emma said and dismissed him, returning her attention to Granny who was fumbling with something under the desk.

The older woman produced a roll of bills. "It's all here." Her voice sounded tense.

"Yes, yes, of course it is, dear," the man said, reaching across Emma. "Thank you. You enjoy your stay…Emma." He gave Emma a chilling, cold smile that had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

"Who's that?" Emma asked once he was gone, intent on putting his name on her list of people to avoid while she was here.

"Mr. Gold," the granddaughter said. She clutched the end of her scarf as he peered out the window, watching Gold go. "He owns this place."

"The inn?"

"No, the town," Granny said. She stared at the door before shaking her head and patting the ledger. "So, how long will you be with us?"

"A week," Emma said. That was what Henry had asked for and that's what she would do. "Just a week."

"Great." The older woman grabbed a key from the cubby behind her, barely even looking. It was the old-fashioned kind, with an ornate key ring twice the length of Emma's palm. "Welcome to Storybrooke. Up the stairs, you're in room four. Do you need any help with your things?"

Behind her, Ruby groaned.

"No," Emma said. "This is it. Thanks." She took the key and booked it up the stairs before Granny could lay into her granddaughter again.

The state of housekeeping at the desk thankfully didn't foreshadow the state of the rooms upstairs. The room behind the black door with its shiny, gold number four proved clean and well-kept. The floral wallpaper wasn't faded and sturdy, wicker furniture dotted the room. The pastel green wasn't exactly Emma's style, but she'd slept in worse places. Like the backseat of the bug. On many, many occasions. The red patterned coverlet beckoned invitingly and Emma collapsed onto the bed, unlacing her boots quickly before falling back onto the bed.

What was she doing here?

Regina hadn't been lying.

She loved Henry, Emma was sure of that much.

But Emma had also seen enough of the world to know that loving someone didn't mean you were good for them.

Or that they were any good for you.

Emma sat up, shucking her jacket off and throwing it over the back of a chair before her train of thoughts went too far down that road. The time to think about those things was yesterday and that was only because she could never manage not to think about…those things on her birthday. Today was one of the 364 days that she did not thing about what happened ten years ago.

Although, here she was in the town he told her about, with their kid… Again, Emma reminded herself that the Killian she knew did not have the patience for sleepy little towns in Maine. It was just coincidence that Henry ended up in the same town that his father had used to seduce her. The universe having another great laugh at Emma Swan.

She was here to satisfy her curiosity over Henry. And to assuage her guilt about giving him up in the first place—even though she still knew she was not mom material.

She'd stay her week, because Henry had asked that of her, and then she was gone.

But first, it had been a long day and Emma hadn't exactly had a restful night the night before. So she stripped off her jeans and crawled under the coverlet, which looked suspiciously like it was hand sewn, and closed her eyes. Trying—and failing—not to think about what it would have been like for her to find her own parents someday.

Yeah, talk about fairy tales.


	4. Chapter 4

_October 2011_

Emma woke to the raucous chime of bells. Groaning, she rolled over, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes so she could see the time on the bedside clock. What business did a clock tower have going off at…8:00 in the morning? She groaned again. On a good day, Emma slept until at least nine. That was the nice thing about being a bail bondsperson; her work usually took place in the evening.

It could be worse, she supposed. She could be hungover.

Emma pulled the pillow over her head to block out the loud clanging. So much for the clock tower not working. She would have to bring that up with Henry when she saw him again.

Henry.

Shit.

Emma sat up, blankets pooling around her hips as she remembered exactly why she was here, in this room, in this bed.

She had a kid. A kid who had tracked her down and blackmailed her into bringing him back here. To Storybrooke. A kid who thought his mom was an evil queen from a fairytale.

Throwing off the blankets, Emma padded into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. She needed to think, to figure out what she planned on doing while she checked up on Henry. He had an active imagination, but that didn't mean that his fairytale world wasn't based in reality. Her stomach growled. Time to head down to that diner and order what would probably end up being an overpriced coffee and rubbery eggs.

Or she thought, casting a glance at her surroundings, she could help herself to coffee from the small coffeemaker that apparently came included with the room. Emma started a pot and went about getting dressed.

She cleaned up quickly, shaking out her jeans—the rumples wouldn't be visible once she put them on anyways—and donning the white sweater she threw on two days ago. She needed to do something about clothes soon. Emma just finished pouring the contents of the small pot into one of the little ceramic mugs sitting next to it when someone rapped firmly on her door. She glanced at the clock, it wasn't even nine yet. Who could possibly want her?

Two more short knocks.

Regina stood on the other side of Emma's door.

"Did you know the Honeycrisp tree is the most vigorous and hearty of all apple trees?" Regina asked, winning Non-sequitur of the Day. At least, it seemed like a non-sequitur until Emma spied the large basket of apples encircled by Regina's arms. The other woman smiled. "It can survive temperatures as low as forty below and keep growing. It can weather any storm. I have one that I've tended to since I was a little girl. And to this day, I have yet to taste anything more delicious than the fruit it offers." She took a step toward Emma, offering a ripe, red fruit. Her smile was made of plastic.

Emma accepted the apple. "Thanks." Maybe Henry came by his flair for the dramatic naturally. A part of her brain chimed that, _Of course he did, his dad was a drama queen._

"I'm sure you'll enjoy them on your drive home." Regina held out the basket, providing a welcome distraction from the run-away train Emma's thoughts had become lately.

"Actually, I'm going to stay for a while," Emma said, watching Regina's reaction carefully.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea." Regina's face stayed neutral, but the smile dropped and she did that thing where she leaned in. Like when she threatened Emma yesterday. "Henry has enough issues. He doesn't need you confusing him."

"All due respect, Madam Mayor," Emma replied, trying to see past the Concerned Mom act Regina put on. She was hiding something. "The fact that you have now threatened me twice in the last twelve hours makes me want to stay more."

"Since when were apples a threat?" Regina didn't miss a beat. She probably rehearsed on the way over here.

"I can read between the lines. Sorry," Emma amended, still feeling a little bad. For all she knew, Regina was just a normal mom trying to make due with a trying kid. Henry came by that honestly too. Emma was less than docile as a child, and if Killian as a child was anything like Killian as an adult had been—well, stubbornness issues probably ran in both their gene pools. Emma hoped she was wrong and if she was, if this was just some weird trick her brain was playing, she hoped Regina would understand. "I just want to make sure Henry's okay."

"He's fine, dear," Regina said. "Any problems he has are being taken care of."

Although, that would be it would be a lot easier to believe if Regina would stop saying things like that.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I have him in therapy," Regina said. "It's all under control. Take my advice, Miss Swan. Only one of us knows what's best for Henry."

"Yeah, I'm starting to think you're right about that."

Regina's mouth tightened, only barely able to be called a smile. "It's time for you to go."

"Or what?"

"Don't underestimate me, Miss Swan," Regina said, crossing the threshold and shoving her face to bare inches in front of Emma's. "You have no idea what I'm capable of." She slipped the basket of apples over her arm and headed back down the hall.

Emma watched her go, shaking her head. The feeling there was something Regina didn't want her to know growing more solid by the minute. She hefted the apple in her hand.

"Well, thanks, Madam Mayor," she muttered. "I guess I know exactly where I'll start looking."

Right after some breakfast.

# # #

Storybrooke might be a small town, but apparently it was large enough to have its own gossip rag. "Stranger Destroys Historic Sign: Alcohol Involved" was plastered all over the front page of a paper purporting to be the _Storybrooke Daily Mirror_. Also gracing the front page was Emma's picture, an unflattering mugshot she didn't even remember having taken. Judging by the half-lidded state of her eyes, Emma hadn't been very cognizant at the time.

She lifted Regina's apple to her mouth, bracing herself for whatever sensationalized version of events the columnist threw down on the page.

"Here you go," the innkeeper's granddaughter said. In the last few minutes, Emma had learned that her name was Ruby, primarily through the grandmother's shouting. Ruby set a white and blue mug, the typical diner mug, in front of Emma. Even with the whipped cream and the dusting of cinnamon on the top, the smell of hot chocolate was overpowering.

"Thank you." Emma glanced up at Ruby. "But I did not order that."

Ruby's Siren in Scarlet grin widened. "Yeah, I know. You have an admirer." The woman cast a knowing glance at the booth behind Emma.

Emma went cold all over. Only one person knew her well enough to know she liked cinnamon with her hot chocolate and he was the last person on earth she ever wanted to see. Especially now. Despite herself, Emma whipped around to find that the booth that Ruby indicated only held Graham.

She sighed with relief, slightly embarrassed at her over the top reaction, for a moment she had thought—but he wasn't here, she knew he wasn't. Graham made far more sense and would be considerably easier to deal with.

Graham looked up at Emma as she stalked over, sitting back in his booth. His fingers traced the rim of his saucer. "Ah, so you decided to stay."

"Observant," Emma bit out. "Important for a cop."

"It's good news for our tourist business, bad for our local signage," Graham said, shaking his head. He paused, eyes flicking up to Emma. "It's… It's a joke." Another pause. "It's because you ran over our sign."

"Look, the cocoa was a nice gesture," Emma started. "And I am impressed that you guessed that I like cinnamon on my chocolate because most people don't, but I am not here to flirt." The mug thunked loudly as Emma set it down on the table in front of Graham. "So thank you, but no thank you."

Graham raised an eyebrow. "I didn't send it."

Emma took a step back. Her eyes darted around the diner, catching sight of Henry just as he turned around.

"I did." The kid grinned. "I like cinnamon, too."

"Don't you have school?" Emma blurted out as Henry hopped out of the booth.

Henry approached, wriggling his arms into the straps of his backpack. "Duh. I'm nine. Walk me."

Leaving the diner reminded Emma of the _Wizard of Oz_ when Dorothy goes from silver screen Kansas to the Technicolor of Oz. The diner's two-tone wallpaper and sterile chrome accents insulated it from the rest of the town, but outside everything became red brick and bright paint, with birds—actual birds—causing a racket in the lush green trees.

Storybrooke certainly deserved its name.

"So, what's the deal with you and your mom?" Emma asked.

"It's not about us," Henry replied as he stepped right into traffic. Okay, maybe it was just one car and it didn't even come close to them, but as he kept talking, Emma still felt a little guilty she hadn't reminded him to look both ways. "It's about her curse. We have to break it. Luckily, I have a plan. Step one ; identification. I call it Operation Cobra." Henry gave satisfied nod.

"Cobra?" Did this kid ever make any sense? "That has nothing to do with fairy tales."

"Exactly." Henry skipped a little, waving his hands around as he explained. It was very like Killian and Emma had to look away. "It's a code name to throw the Queen off the trail."

"So, everyone here is a fairy tale character. They just don't know it."

"That's the curse." Henry's voice rose in pitch as he hit every word like it was important. And for a nine-year-old, it probably was. "Time's been frozen—until you got here."

Emma wanted to point out that if time really was frozen here, Henry would still been an infant—or whatever age he'd been when Regina adopted him. But his excitement made her smile and she was glad that Henry didn't have bigger problems to think about, so instead, she went to take a bite of her breakfast.

Henry gasped when he saw the apple. "Hey! Where'd you get that?"

"Your mom."

"Don't eat that!" Henry actually sounded scared as he tore the apple from Emma's hand and chucked it behind him.

"Okay, uh…" Emma stopped, glancing back, hoping that Henry hadn't accidently brained someone with the fruit. She didn't see any casualties, but she picked up the pace anyways. Just in case "Alright. What about their pasts?"

Henry shook his head. "They don't know. It's a haze to them. Ask anyone anything. And you'll see."

"So…" Emma started to list the details on her fingers. "For decades, people have been walking around in a haze, not aging, with screwed up memories, stuck in a cursed town that kept them oblivious." Emma looked around at the handful of people on the street with them, bustling by as they headed to work or the store or to get breakfast. She returned her attention back to Henry when she realized that she actually was considering asking people questions right then and there. Because she wanted to prove him wrong? Or because what Henry said was scarily intricate?

"I knew you'd get it." Henry beamed up at her and Emma felt something inside her flutter as she returned his smile. "That's why we need you. You're the only one who can stop her curse."

Emma stopped. "Because I'm the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming?" Honestly, that was the hardest part about this whole thing. She might have dreamed up similar scenarios as a very small child, but she understood long ago that she was no princess. She couldn't even remember when she realized that her parents hadn't given her up for noble reasons, like trying to save her from some curse, but for their own selfish reasons. After all, if you had any kind of nobility you didn't abandon a newborn in the woods in the middle of October.

"Yes." Henry glanced to either side, like someone in a bad spy movie, and took a step closer to Emma. Slipping his backpack off his shoulders, he yanked open the zipper. "And right now, we have the advantage. My mom doesn't know that. I took out the end." Henry reached into the grey-green bag, retrieving several pages which he handed to Emma. He pointed to a picture. "The part with you in it. See? Your mom is Snow White."

Emma took in the picture, noting it's similarity to the other drawings she'd glimpsed when she leafed through the book before returning it to Henry. Her breath caught in her throat and she had to admit, even though blood hadn't featured too heavily in her childhood imaginings, this scene resembled the ones she dreamed up as a child. Right down to the name on her blanket. Emma swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that that detail hadn't been dreamt up by a child's imagination.

"Kid…"

"I know the hero never believes at first," Henry said, skipping off again, clearly trusting Emma to follow. "If they did, it wouldn't be a very good story. If you need proof, take them. Read them." He pushed the pages toward her, doing the Really-Bad-Spy glance again. "But whatever you do, don't let her see these pages. They're dangerous. If she found out who you are, then it would be bad. "

Emma tried to pay attention as Henry chattered for the rest of the walk to his school, but the baby wrapped in a blanket with _her_ name on it bothered her, even after she rolled the pages up to hide the picture. She was lucky to avoid tripping on anything. She just barely noted the change in scenery as they turned a corner and the buildings gave way to a long, low hedge.

"I gotta go." Henry said, his voice snapping her out of her haze. When had he stopped talking? "But I'll find you later and we can get started. I knew you'd believe me!"

"I never said I did."

"Why else would you be here?" With one last grin at Emma, he turned and ran up the steps to his school.

Emma's stomach swooped a little as she watched him go. His smile was something special. That was why she stayed. Because she needed to be sure her kid had plenty of reasons to smile before she left.

Henry's teacher, Mary Margaret, glanced over at Emma from her place welcoming the kid's to school. She looked less like a nun today and more like a little girl ready for a tea party. Especially with the child-like look of wonder on her face as she watched Henry run by.

"It's good to see his smile back," the teacher said, approaching Emma.

Emma shrugged. "I didn't do anything."

"You stayed."

Emma nodded, trying to ignore the way her chest tightened when she thought about the fact that staying also meant that she would have to leave. Eventually.

"So," Mary Margaret continued, dropping her voice. "Does the mayor know you're still here?"

"Oh, she knows." Emma shook her head, remembering her encounter with Regina that morning. The woman was a real piece for work. She made Emma look downright friendly. "What is her deal? She's not a great people person. How did she get elected?"

"She's been mayor for as long as I can remember," Mary Margaret said.

Emma narrowed her eyes, but the teacher wasn't lying. Calm down, she told herself. People said stuff like that all the time. Just because she had a crazy kid who hadn't outgrown the monsters under the bed wasn't a reason to start thinking everything was part of some great conspiracy.

"No one's ever been brave enough to run against her." The teacher took a deep breath, a bitter note creeping into her voice. "She inspires quite a bit of, well, fear. I'm afraid I only made that worse by giving Henry that book. Now he thinks she's the Evil Queen." Mary Margaret offered an apologetic smile.

"Who does he think you are?"

Mary Margaret blushed, looking at the ground. "Oh, it's silly."

"I just got five minutes of silly. Lay it on me."

"Snow White."

The words hit hard. Emma tamped down the sad, little girl inside her real fast. It only made sense that Henry would choose this woman for Snow White. Emma was a little flattered. The teacher seemed nice enough, like just the sort of person who should have children someday.

The bell rang and the kids all stopped what they were doing to race inside the school.

"Who does he think you are?" Mary Margaret asked.

"I'm not in the book," Emma lied. She barely knew this woman. Henry, on the other hand, was starting to make a little more sense to her. "Can I ask you a favor? Regina mentioned the kid's in therapy. Do you know where I could find the doctor?"

# # #

Henry's shrink kept office above a little clothing boutique across from Granny's, through a door with gold-lettering on the large glass pane and up a staircase that shared walls with the shops on either side. His door, with a name plaque also proclaiming "Dr. Archibald Hopper, M.D., Psychiatrist", stood ajar. Emma took a moment to appreciate the bright, cheery yellow of the door before knocking perfunctorily.

"Hey," she said, stepping through the open door.

As Emma had suspected, Dr. Archibald Hopper turned out to be Archie, Henry's dog-loving friend from Emma's first night in town. He sat as his desk, his head whipping up from the newspaper he perused. The office suited him well, comfortable, but slightly askew. Objects cluttered every surface save the stereotypical shrink's couch. Books, papers, a tray with a pitcher of water on the coffee table, a typewriter, a clarinet. That one surprised Emma a little, but Archie didn't give her much time to be surprised.

"Emma Swan." He stood quickly, reaching for the paper on his desk and brandishing it. "I was, uh, just reading about you. Let me guess—you're here for a little help with post-traumatic stress?" He gave her a smile that matched the sunny wallpaper as he tossed the paper back to the desk. As friendly as everyone in this town but Regina had proved. "That diagnosis was free, by the way."

Emma chuckled with him. "No, I'm here about Henry."

Archie stuck his hands in his pockets, eyes on the shiny, white-speckled floor. "I'm sorry. I… I really shouldn't…"

"I know, I'm sorry." Emma sat on the arm of the couch. The brown faux-leather squeaked beneath her weight. "Just tell me something. This fairy tale obsession, what is causing it? I mean, he thinks everyone is a character in his book. That's…" Emma searched for a better word, a word that justified the ugly twisting in her gut every time Henry started talking about curses and evil queens. Maybe someone with more than their GED would know, Emma settled for the only word she knew. "Crazy."

Archie's grin fell. "I-I hope you don't talk that way in front of him," he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and clasping them in front of him. His professional voice from moments ago came back, without the joking tone. "The word crazy is, um, quite damaging. These stories…" He paused, taking a breath as his gaze went somewhere else for the space of a second. "They're his language. He has no idea how to express complex emotion, so he's translating as best he can. This is how he communicates. He's using this book to help deal with his problems."

"But he got the book a month ago." Emma knew that much. It was one of the few things she managed to wrangle from Henry's teacher before the second bell had the woman hustling into the school. "Has he been seeing you longer than that?"

"Um, yes, he has."

"So it's Regina, isn't it?" Emma's heart sank. She had been right, Henry's mom did have something to hide.

"Uh, his mother is, uh, a very complicated woman." Archie made a valiant attempt to meet Emma's eyes, but his gaze kept shifting behind his tortoise shell frames. Whatever strings Regina pulled to become mayor clearly held weight with Archie as well. "And, uh, over the years, her attempts to try and bring Henry close to her only backfired." He studied the ground for a long moment before turning away from Emma and going to the filing cabinet next to his desk. "Why don't you take a look at the file?" He came back to Emma, a fat, brown heavy duty folder in his hands. "Um, see what I mean."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked as she took the file. It was heavy, a thick stack of papers sitting neatly inside it.

"We talked about you a lot. And you're very important to him."

"Thank you." Emma's grip on the folder tightened. Whatever was going on with Henry, Archie thought she could help. That scared her a little, but she felt a little warmer inside too.

Archie shuffled his feet, not looking at Emma. "Just, uh, see that I get it back, okay?"

He went to the door and opened it for her. Emma clutched the folder to her chest as she followed.

"And Miss Swan," Archie said, pulling Emma's attention back to him right before she crossed the threshold. Hands in his pockets again, he gave her a tight, awkward smile that almost looked like an expression of pain. "Just for the sake of the boy, be careful how to handle his belief system. Destroying his imagination would be…devastating."

Emma nodded. The folder felt heavy in her arms as she clomped down the stairs and pushed through the door, heading straight for Granny's and her room. Maybe something in this folder would help her crack the mystery that was Henry. If she could understand where this fairy tale…thing came from, she could help him deal with whatever was going on. Henry's imaginary world might be a problem, but problems could be solved.

As soon as Emma got back to the bed and breakfast, she set to work sorting through Archie's notes. Both years had a manila folder. One for this year. Another slightly battered folder for last year. Only two was good sign. At least he didn't have folders stretching all the way back like she had. Her heart clenched at the memory of the thick folder her social worker had carried. This wasn't about her though, this was about Henry.

Even for just a couple of years, the amount of notes she sifted through unsettled Emma as she separated the months and laid them out across the bad, working her way back to the earliest notes. Those would probably tell her the most about the cause of Henry's problem. When everything was finally spread for her to see, Emma took the earliest set and went to the other side of her bed, shucking her jacket and light sweater she wore before she plopped down to read.

She made it to the second page before someone knocked on her door.

Emma sighed and went to answer the door, expecting Granny or Ruby, anyone really but the person she found.

Graham stood there, thumbs hooked into his belt, his polished woodsman aesthetic jarring against the kitschy floral wallpaper behind him. Emma's internal alarms went off. There was only reason she could think of that he would be showing up at her door and while he did look ruggedly handsome in his dark leather jacket, now was not the time and she did not do booty calls.

"Hey there," Emma said, keeping her hold on the door. "If you're concerned about the 'do not disturb' signs, don't worry. I've left them alone."

Graham took a breath. "Actually, I'm here about Dr. Archibald Hopper. He mentioned you got into a bit of a row with him earlier?"

Emma shook her head. "No."

"I was shocked too," Graham said, his tone light. "And given your shy, delicate sensibilities… He says you demanded to see Henry's files and when he refused, you came back and stole them."

"He gave them to me."

"Alas, he's telling a different tale." He gestured behind her. "May I check your room? Or, must I get a search warrant?"

Emma opened the door wider. Why would Archie give her the folder and then call the sheriff? It made no sense.

"This what you're looking for?" she bit out, the pieces still whirling around her head as Graham approached the bed, his eyes glancing over the papers. Archie hadn't given her the folder because he believed she could do any good and he had no reason to set her up.

But there was someone who might.

"Well, you're very accommodating," Graham said, tossing the paper he held aside. His handcuffs clinked together as he pulled them from his belt. "I'm afraid, Miss Swan, you're under arrest. Again."

He grabbed Emma's wrist, the metal cold against her skin as he fastened the first cuff around her.

Emma took a step closer to Graham. "You know I'm being set up, don't you?"

The sheriff didn't flinch, just grabbed Emma's other wrist and cuffed that one too. "And whom, may I ask, is setting you up?" He waited a moment for Emma reply, then jumped right into the Miranda rights spiel as he nudged Emma towards the door.

Those words brought back memories. Bad memories.

Graham didn't say anything else on the very, very short drive from Granny's to the sheriff's station. Really, if you factored in the time it took Graham to help Emma in the squad car, get in the car himself, and start it, it might have just been faster for them to walk down the block and turn the corner. Everything in this little town was so damn close. Compared to some of the places she'd been, like Boston and New York, it was practically claustrophobic. Emma couldn't see how anyone stood living here, she thought as she trudged ahead of Graham sullenly when they got to the sheriff station.

Once inside, he directed her to stand in front of the height chart as he dragged the tripod and camera out from the corner.

"You know the shrink is lying, right?" Emma said.

The camera flashed right in the middle of her sentence. No warning. Just click and flash, catching her with her mouth open. Emma grimaced, another stellar mug shot to add to her growing collection.

"To the right, please." Graham pointed. There was a snap as he fiddled with the camera. "Why would he lie?"

This time Emma waited for the flash. "The Mayor put him up to this."

Plastic crackled as Graham pulled the Polaroid from the camera, tossing it on the desk. For all Emma could tell, he hadn't even heard her.

"She's got to have something on him." The handcuff's jingled, aborting the gesture she'd been about to make. Emma let her hands fall back against her stomach. "He's terrified of her like everyone else in this town."

Graham didn't bat an eye. "To the left." He pointed again. "Regina may be a touch intimidating, but I don't think she'd go as far as a frame job."

Emma's head swiveled toward Graham. Her ears perking. "How far would she go? What does she have her hands in?"

Graham tossed the final photo onto the desk. It slapped softly on top of the other two.

"Well, she's the Mayor," he said, attention on the tripod. "She has her hands in everything."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Including the police force?"

Graham gave her an unreadable tilt of his head, but whatever he was about to say got cut off as Henry raced in.

"Hey!"

"Henry!" Graham said as Henry bounced up to Emma, Mary Margaret following close on his heels. "Henry, what are you doing here?"

"His mother told him what happened," the teacher said, her hand tightening on the strap of her purse.

"Of course she did." A flash of anger sizzled through Emma. White hot. She shot a look at Graham, if he needed any more proof, then this town needed a new sheriff. Taking a step toward Henry, she started to explain, "Henry, I don't know what she said—"

"You're a genius."

Everything in Emma's head screeched to an abrupt halt. "What?"

"I know what you were up to." Henry paused, giving Emma a knowing look. He sidled up to Emma before going on in a slightly hushed voice. "You were gathering intel for Operation Cobra."

Emma chuckled. Of course. Henry's optimism knew no bounds.

"I'm sorry," Graham said, blinking rapidly. "I'm a bit lost."

"It's need to know, Sheriff," Henry told him with more authority than a nine-year-old had any business possessing. He grinned that familiar grin. "And all you need to know is that Miss Blanchard's going to bail her out."

Emma's gaze flew to the teacher. "You are? Why?"

"I, uh, trust you," Mary Margaret replied.

Emma took a breath, glancing from the teacher to her son and back again. Mary Margaret nodded.

"Well," Emma said, lifting her hands out toward Graham. "If you can uncuff me, I have something to do."

He gave her a suspicious look, but reached for the key ring on his belt. Two clicks later, Emma was free. She waited patiently while Mary Margaret paid the sheriff, feeling a little guilty that what she was about to do would probably land her right back in this room before the day was out, but at least this time it would be for something that she had done.

"I don't like that look," he said. "What are you planning, Emma?"

"It's need to know."

Emma's first order of business once she left the sheriff station was to send Henry back to school with Mary Margaret. If the teacher hadn't been there, she wasn't sure how she would have managed, but he finally relented, though the look he threw at her said he didn't quite believe that she was just going back to her room.

Which she did. She hadn't lied.

She stopped back at Granny's, retrieved her credit card and then booked it back down the street to the hardware store, where she bought the biggest, baddest looking chainsaw they had in stock. A shiny, orange monster with wicked looking teeth.

All in all, she made it back to City Hall in twenty minutes, her sights set on a lush tree with ripe apples hanging low on its branches. Like drops of blood. Her heart lurched a little when she pulled the cord and a small voice said this was her last chance to back down.

Emma Swan did not back down. Not from bullies like Regina.

She revved the chainsaw again and dug in at a fork in the branches, putting the strength of her anger behind the tool. The teeth bit into the wood, little chips of bark flying up and scattering over the bright green lawn. The limb creaked, crashing to the ground with great snap. Emma smiled and glanced up. Regina stood in the window, glaring daggers at Emma. The curtains fluttered at the woman spun and disappeared.

Emma didn't wait long before a door at the side of the building slammed open and Regina was bearing down on her, arms pumping, wobbling a little as her heels sunk into the soft turf. Emma revved the chainsaw a couple more times before switching it off.

"What the hell are you doing?" Regina screamed.

"Picking apples." Emma dumped the chainsaw behind her. She'd already left a mess for Regina to clean up, one more thing wouldn't make much difference.

Regina circled around Emma, taking in the branch now propped against the tree and the apples that had fallen to the ground as a result of Emma's vandalism.

"You're out of your mind," she said, turning on Emma.

"No, you are if you think a shoddy frame job's enough to scare me off." Emma propped her hands on her hips. She met Regina's glare head on. "You're going to have to do better than that. You come after me one more time, I'm coming back for the rest of this tree. Because, sister, you have no idea what I am capable of."

She walked away, throwing two final words over her shoulder as she left Regina behind. "Your move."

# # #

"Miss Swan?"

The soft voice startled Emma, halting her in the doorway with the room key still dangling in her hand.

Granny stood behind Emma, wringing her hands. "Oh my, this is terribly awkward. Uh, I need to ask you to leave." Her hands fluttered, still holding most of Emma's attention as the words sank in. "I'm afraid we have a 'no felons' rule. It… It turns out it's a city ordinance." Granny's rolled her eyes, showing clearly where Ruby got her attitude from.

Once again, all the little pieces clicked into place.

"Let me guess…the Mayor's office just called to remind you."

Granny nodded. "You can gather your things, but I need to have your room key back."

Emma held the key out, giving the woman an ironic smile to show that she understood. They both knew who the real villain was. Granny stood guard at the door as Emma grabbed her things.

"I really am sorry," she said. "If there was any other way…but I'll lose my license."

"No," Emma said, holding up her hand as Granny closed and locked the door behind them. "It's okay. I pissed Regina off. You just got caught in the middle."

Granny nodded. The key clinked as she slid it into her pocket. "I hope whatever's got you two at each other's throats is worth it. She's not someone I'd want to make an enemy of."

Clearly. Emma kept the thought to herself as she jogged down the stairs and took the shortcut between the inn and the diner. Already, the gears in her head were spinning. She'd find somewhere else. Or she'd hoof it in the bug. She'd done that often enough and it wasn't too cold just yet.

She left the diner, pulling the sweater over her head, but stopped short when she got a look at her car. It was across the street, right where it had been this morning with a dark orange boot now clamped on the front wheel. Emma's temper surged, but she pulled it in, dialing down to a simmer. She expected this.

Though how Regina thought robbing her of her only mode of transportation would get rid of her was beyond Emma.

The tinny warbling of her ringtone sounded and Emma fished her phone out of her back pocket.

Speak of the devil. Or Evil Queen as the case may be.

Emma hit the call button. "Yeah?"

"Miss Swan," Regina purred. "I'd be happy to continue demonstrating my power, but am I right in guessing your resolve to stay is only growing?"

The rage bubbled again, a tight edge creeping into Emma's voice. "You have no idea."

"Well then. I think it's time we made peace. Why don't you drive over to my office?"

Emma slammed the door of the bug closed, ready to say Regina knew damn well that driving was out of the question. Regina beat her to it though.

"Or walk, whatever suits you."

The line clicked and Regina was gone. Emma took a deep breath, deciding that it was probably a good thing that Regina wasn't here right now; she might have chucked her phone at the woman and with the clout Regina clearly had, that would end in another night spent in the Storybrooke holding cell.

 _Might be worth it though._

Emma stalked down the block for the third time that day, trying to talk herself down from throttling the woman outright. If Regina wanted to make peace, Emma would at least hear her out. Something told her this wouldn't change anything, but she owed it to Henry to at least try. She didn't want to make his life any more complicated that it already was.

The mayor's office resided in the other wing of City Hall, the golden, colonial building a stark contrast to the functional, brick Sheriff's station. By the time Emma banged through the door and made her way up the stairs, she thought she might be ready to talk. At least, she no longer wanted to strangle the woman.

Emma stopped at the end of the hall, taking a deep breath. Her eyes scanned the words, following the arcing "Town of Storybrooke" before falling to the more matter-of-fact "Mayor's Office" printed on the frosted glass window. Sure now that she controlled her temper, Emma twisted the doorknob and pushed through into the antechamber. It was modest. The secretary's desk piled with papers, the file cabinets the usual sort of thing you found in offices, even the couch at the far side and the wooden chair looked like any other you'd find in a city office.

And Emma had been in many city offices.

"Hello?" she called, shutting the door behind her.

"Ah, Ms. Swan, that was fast," Regina's voice came through the open door opposite the desk, as did the sound of her heels against the tiled floor. She appeared in the doorway, ushering Emma into the large office. "Come in. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No. Thanks."

Regina's office really was something. Stark, black and white, with wallpaper that made Emma wonder if the forest theme was also a city ordinance. The outer office might look familiar, but this office? It was nothing like the places she saw as a child going from city to city while bouncing from home to home. Despite the understated color scheme, everything reeked of money. Emma could practically smell the thousands of dollars that had been shelled out to for Regina's custom marble floor and that giant white horse statue.

Who needed a giant white horse statue?

"I hope you don't mind if I have one," Regina said, gesturing to a sitting area, slightly off to the side.

Emma parked herself on the grey couch, pulling her boots up to brace them against the black marble coffee table. Despite the vase of white roses over her shoulder, the entire room felt impersonal. More like a throne room than an office.

No wonder Henry thought his mom was an evil queen, Emma thought as Regina sat in a throne-like chair across from her.

Regina set her drink down on the coffee table, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Emma braced herself. She had no idea what level of stupid was about to come her way. Considering the moves Regina had just pulled with the room and her car, Emma expected it to be good.

"I'd like to start by apologizing, Miss Swan."

Emma eyed Regina suspiciously. "What?"

"I just have to accept the reality that you want to be here."

"That's right. I do."

Regina clutched her hands in her lap. "And that you're here to take my son from me."

"Okay," Emma said, stopping the other woman before she said anything else. "Let's be clear. I have no intention of taking him from anyone."

"Well, then, what are you doing here?" Regina leaned forward, her face relaxing a little.

That was what this was about. Of course. It was ridiculous, but if Emma's arrival made Regina feel threatened, her behavior made so much sense now. Emma remembered acting the same way when newer, younger kids showed up at the decent foster homes. Though Emma had had experience to back her behavior up. She needed just to let Regina know that this wasn't like that. She wasn't some bright, shiny new thing come to take away all the good things Regina had. All she wanted was confirmation she made the right choice nine years ago.

She didn't know what she was going to do if she hadn't, but if all this weirdness was just because Regina was scared, then maybe they could work together to help Henry after they cleared the air between them.

"I know I'm not a mother," Emma said. "I think that's pretty self-evident, but I did have him. And I can't help that he got in my head and I want to make sure he's okay." Regina took a breath and Emma relaxed a little, she was getting through to the woman. "The more you try to push me out, the more I want to be here. Especially after seeing how troubled he is."

Regina looked hurt by those words. "You think he's troubled?"

"Well, he's in therapy. And I only got through a couple of pages of his shrink's notes before you had me arrested." Emma stopped herself before she started sounding too bitter. She waved her hand dismissively, reminding herself that this was about burying the hatchet. This was about working together. Helping Henry. "But putting all that aside. He thinks everyone in this town is a fairy tale character."

"And you don't?"

"How can I?" Emma asked incredulously. "The poor kid can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality and it's only getting worse. It's crazy."

"You think I'm crazy?"

The words knifed Emma's train of thought.

Henry stared at her from the doorway with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. He looked like Emma had slapped him. Emma felt as bad as if she had. Archie's words, his concern, they all came flooding back to Emma. No wonder he had been so adamant she treat Henry's world with care. Henry looked absolutely betrayed.

The knife twisted, white hot pain in her mind. She wanted him to stop looking at her like that.

"Henry…"

Henry bit his lip, blinking rapidly as he turned and ran, his sneakers squeaking down the hall.

Emma stood, desperate to go after him, but a thought stopped her.

She planted her hands on her hips, standing completely still. "How long was he there?"

"Long enough."

"You knew he would be here."

The anxious woman of only moments ago disappeared. Regina leaned comfortably back in her chair, her hands poised delicately in her lap, a smug look on her face that bore a striking resemblance to the queen in Henry's book. Only the vase of flowers, couch, coffee table, and sizable distance between them kept Emma from hurling herself at the woman and strangling her.

"Did I know that my son comes to my office every Thursday at precisely 5:00 p.m. so I can take him for dinner before his therapy session?" Regina asked, her voice rock hard. "Of course I did. I'm his mother. Your move." Regina draped her arms across her chair, staring Emma down.

"You have no soul," Emma bit out. "How in the hell did you get like this?" She didn't wait for an answer, she spun on her heel and sprinted out of the office. Henry was too far ahead of her, she knew he wouldn't still be outside when she got down the stairs and out the door. That didn't stop her from looking for him.

She needed to fix this. But how?

The answer stung. She couldn't fix it. Sure, she could apologize to Henry, but the next time she and Regina went head to head, he would only end up getting hurt again. Clearly, Regina was willing to go to any length to keep her hold on Henry. She wasn't backing down.

But backing down was the best thing for Henry.

So if Regina wasn't willing to do it, then it fell to Emma.

And maybe that was for the best. She wasn't a mom. She didn't know what to do or what to say, she had just proved that. Henry was better off without her. Maybe Regina wasn't ideal, but she was better than anything Emma could be by a long shot.

# # #

Emma regarded the green door for a long time. Tracking down Henry's teacher hadn't taken much effort, just a few questions when Emma stopped by the diner for dinner and she had directions, plus she knew what Mary Margaret like with her morning coffee. The benefits of living in a small town, she supposed. Eventually you memorized everyone's order.

Emma contemplated sliding the money under the door and booking it back to her car, but the teacher had helped her out of a tight spot. She deserved a proper thank you. So—despite everything inside Emma that screamed run, _run_ , RUN—Emma lifted her hand and knocked on the door, praying that the teacher wasn't home.

No such luck.

The door creaked as it opened and Emma found herself staring into Mary Margaret's perplexed gaze.

Emma didn't give her the time to ask any questions.

"Hey," she said. The crisp, manila envelope weighed heavily in Emma's hand as she held it out to the teacher. "Just wanted to say thank you and, um, pay you back the bail money."

Mary Margaret accepted the envelope, nodding. She looked relaxed in her casual clothes. Apparently, even supposed fairytale princesses preferred jeans and comfy sweaters when they were at home.

Silence stretched out. Emma should be leaving. She wanted to leave. She meant to leave as soon as she handed the money to Mary Margaret, but her feet wouldn't move. The teacher's eyes held her, drew her in.

Mary Margaret tilted her head, like one of the birds that followed her Disney alter ego around. "You look like you need to talk." She stepped back, opening the door wider. "Why don't you come in, I'll make us some cocoa."

In a few minutes, the teacher had steaming cocoa set in front of Emma thanks to the magic of electric kettles and instant cocoa mix. Emma reached for the plain mug and took a sip, pulling back when she tasted the familiar tang of her favorite topping.

"Cinnamon?"

Mary Margaret froze, a plate of cookies in her hand. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should've asked. It's a little quirk of mine. Do you mind?" She reached out, half ready to fix Emma another cup.

"Not at all," Emma said, setting the mug down and wrapping her hands around it. The warmth grounded her. The grind of the plate as Mary Margaret slid it toward her pulled Emma from her thoughts "Oh, thanks." Emma fiddled with the handle of her cup. "When you bailed me out, you said that you trusted me. Why?"

"It's strange," Mary Margaret said softly, glancing down at the table. She ran a finger back and forth over a little ridge in the design of her cup. "Ever since you arrived here, I've had the oddest feeling like we met before. And I know it's crazy." She gave Emma a half smile and took a sip of her cocoa.

"I'm starting to re-evaluate my definition of crazy."

"For what it's worth, I think you're innocent."

"Of breaking and entering? Or just in general?"

"Whichever makes you feel better," the teacher replied with a knowing smile.

Emma chuckled. "It doesn't really matter what anyone thinks I did or didn't do. I'm leaving."

The teacher gave a soft sigh, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Thank you," Emma said, forging on. She wanted someone, anyone, to understand that this was just how it had to be. That this as best for Henry. If anyone would agree with her, wouldn't his teacher? "For everything—but I think it's for the best. If I stay, Henry's only going to keep getting hurt."

"What happens if you go?" Mary Margaret asked, her greens eyes unnaturally dark in the lamplight. It got dark early here in Storybrooke. Mary Margaret nodded again, her gaze retreating as she fit her thoughts into words. "I think they very fact that you want to leave, is why you have to stay. You care about him. Who will protect Henry if you won't?"

Her eyes—green like Emma's, like Henry's—bored through Emma, making Emma's heart beat double time. She did care. That much was obvious—obvious enough that this stranger had figured it out after just three conversations with Emma. Maybe sooner, maybe long before Emma knew herself.

Emma swallowed, realized she had stopped breathing, and took a breath. If his teacher thought Henry needed protecting, if it wasn't just that Emma disagreed with Regina's tactics, then Mary Margaret was right.

Emma had to stay.

The teacher glanced up, her eyes lighting on the clocks on her mantelpiece. The woman seriously liked her clocks.

"Oh, it's almost 6:30. I need to—"

"That's fine," Emma said. She didn't need to know what the teacher's plans were. She had somewhere to be too.

# # #

For the second time that evening, Emma found herself hovering outside a door. She had no plan, no idea how to make this better. The walk from Mary Margaret's to the shrink's office was too short.

Inside, Henry and Archie were talking—or at least, Archie was trying to get Henry talking.

"Is that why you think I'm Jiminy Cricket?"

"I don't think you're anyone."

Henry's soft, sullen voice spurred Emma to action. She burst in without knocking, drawing Archie's attention immediately, though Henry didn't move, his dark head barely visible over the back of the couch.

Archie jumped to his feet. "Miss Swan!" He sidestepped around the couch, his conversation with Henry forgotten. "Look, I can explain. The Mayor forced me to—"

"I know. Don't worry about it. I get it." Emma waved him off, eyes only for Henry as she pushed past the shrink and took his recently vacated chair. She reached for Henry's knee, but the boy shifted away from her. Emma's grip tightened around the rolled up pages in her other hand. "Henry, I'm sorry."

"I don't want to talk to you," Henry mumbled. He held an oversized golf umbrella that was probably as tall as he was. He ran his thumb up and down the curve, refusing to look up at either Emma or Archie.

"Miss Swan," Archie began. "If she knew you were here—"

Emma cut him off again. "To hell with her," she spat before pulling her emotions back in. Her problems with Regina were not going to help here. "Henry, there is one simple reason I stayed here. You." Emma poured every ounce of feeling she had into the words, hoping that they would have the same effect on Henry as they might have had on her. She could only imagine what it would feel like to know someone cared about her the way she cared about her son. "I wanted to get to know you."

"You think I'm crazy."

"No, I think the curse is crazy. And it is," Emma said. She took a breath; here was where things got tricky. She didn't want to lie. Henry was too smart to buy a complete reversal. What she needed to do was convince him that there was still a chance she could believe. Convince him that he was getting to her, which wasn't a lie. It just wasn't because of the curse. "But, that doesn't mean that it isn't true."

Henry's eyes slid over to her for just a second before he glared down at the umbrella again.

"It is a lot to ask anyone to believe in, but there are a lot of crazy things in this world. So what do I know? Maybe it is true."

"But you told my mom…"

"What she needed to hear," Emma said. "What I do know is that if the curse _is_ real, the only way to break it is by tricking the Evil Queen into thinking that we are non-believers."

That got Henry's attention and he finally—finally—looked at Emma, his eyes lighting up. The sullen attitude melted away as he stared her, melting Emma's heart in the process.

"Cause that way, she's not on to us. Isn't that what Operation Cobra was all about?" Emma glanced up at Archie. Emma felt her confidence surge. This was it, her instincts had been right. "Throwing her off the trail?"

A slow grin spread across Henry's face as he leaned toward Emma. "Brilliant!" he cried, his bright voice music to Emma's ears.

Emma looked down at the pages in her hand and suddenly, she knew why she stopped at the bug to grab them on her way over. They represented something different for her than they did for Henry, and yes, she was terrified by how much she wished the story was true, but that wasn't what prompted the idea. No, this was exactly the kind of over-the-top gesture that Henry would appreciate.

She brandished the rolled up papers in front of her. "I've read the pages and, Henry, you are right. They are dangerous. There is only one way to make sure that see never sees them." She got up and tossed the storybook pages into Archie's fireplace, a little twinge of guilt running through her. They were beautiful. But meaningless, the little baby in the picture was not her, despite the name stitched on the little blanket. The man that held the baby so tenderly wasn't her father. Whoever that man was, she would never know him, but she could know this boy and that was who she turned to, giving him her best look of determination. "Now we have the advantage."

The umbrella fell to the rug with a muffled thump as Henry raced over to Emma, bowling into her and wrapping his arms around her waist. It had been years since anyone hugged Emma—she wasn't really a hug person—but as Henry pressed his ear into her ribcage she thought she could learn to be. Emma held Henry close, tucking his head underneath her chin, his soft, baby fine hair slipping between her fingers.

"I knew you were here to help me," Henry said.

"That's right, kid. I am," Emma said, taking a step back so she could look him in the eye. "And nothing, not even a curse, is going to stop that." She squeezed his arms. "So, how long do I have with you before your mom shows up to take you home?"

"Oh, she's working late tonight," Henry said with a shrug. "Something happened at the office earlier, she says she needed to take care of clean up."

"And she lets you walk home alone?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Emma said. "Why don't you let me come with you tonight?"

"That'd be cool."

Henry grinned brightly and Emma felt him break through another layer. Keeping Henry out was getting harder with every passing minute—or maybe, even after all these years, he had never really left her heart. Maybe he was just reviving something that had atrophied.

That thought scared her, but she owed him this. It was exactly what she wished someone had done for her.

Slinging her arm around his shoulders, she pushed away the thought that someone had done it for her.

It only counted if you stayed.

# # #

She had to stay.

That was the kicker, Emma realized as she scanned the _Daily Mirror_ for rooms to rent later that night. Other than a small ad for Granny's, nothing looked promising. A town like Storybrooke didn't have too many places to rent.

"Hey. You okay?"

The soft voice startled Emma. She looked up to see Mary Margaret leaning in, hands holding a bright pink sweater tightly around her.

Emma gave her a wry smile. "Oh, in the world of tight spots I've been in, crashing in my car doesn't even rank in the top ten."

"You're sleeping here?" the teacher asked, the pitch of her voice rising pleasantly despite the concern laced with the words.

"Till I find a place." Emma brandished the paper.

"You decided to stay." Mary Margaret smiled. "For Henry."

"Yeah, I guess." Emma got out of the car, newspaper still in her hand, and settled against the side of the bug. Emma couldn't help herself, she like Mary Margaret. Not that she wanted to start braiding flower crowns into each other's hair or anything, but anyone who could see through Regina was alright in her book. "This town doesn't seem to have many vacancies. None, actually. Is that normal?"

Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes playfully. "Must be the curse."

Emma huffed a quick laugh, trying to ignore the bite of the air on her bare arms. In the car, she'd been quite toasty, even without the heat going, but out in the open air was a different story.

"Why are you out so late?" she asked.

"Well, I'm a teacher, not a nun. I had a date." A growl sounded in the teacher's voice, not the angry kind. More the exasperated "I-can't-believe-I-fell-for-it" kind that Emma was far too familiar with.

Emma nodded, that explained the outfit change. "From the looks of things, it went well."

"As well as they ever do."

"Tell me he at least paid."

Mary Margaret's eyes fluttered shut and she shook her head.

"Ew."

"Well, guess if true love was easy, we'd all have it," the teacher said, casting a look at Emma's car again. She bit her lip and added, "You know, if things get cramped, I do have a spare room."

The offer took Emma by surprise. She couldn't remember when anyone had been as kind to her as Mary Margaret had been over the last two days—well, she could, but those people had always had ulterior motives. No. This simply seemed to be how the teacher was. Genuinely kind to everyone…even when they didn't deserve it.

"Thanks," Emma said. "I'm not really the roommate type. It's just not my thing. I do better on my own." Even as she said the words, part of her brain called her out, reminding her that her happiest memories were made with someone else. She ignored that part of her brain. It was easy. She had years of practice.

It scared her how much she wanted take the teacher up on that offer.

But she learned long ago that being alone was better. People always left.

"Well, goodnight," Mary Margaret said. "Good luck with Henry."

"Yeah…" Emma said.

She almost called out to the teacher. Almost said she changed her mind.

After all, Emma was the one who would be leaving eventually.

Except, she didn't know when there would ever be a right time for her to leave.

# # #

 _36 hours earlier_

Killian woke with a blinding headache.

Three hundred years of living and he still hadn't learned to keep his eyes shut tight when he woke with a hangover. With a groan, he pressed his hand across his eyelids, waiting for the nausea to abate. A mostly empty stomach and the determination that he was not going to vomit all over the cabin like some lily-livered lightweight helped tremendously in this endeavor.

When at last the pounding and the queasiness settled to manageable levels, Killian dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the little kitchen. From the fridge he grabbed a bottle of water. A strange thing to pay for water and yet so terribly convenient, packaged as it was and free from things like dysentery and guinea worms. He could think of more than one voyage when bottled water would have been a welcome blessing. From a cabinet, Killian grabbed the bottle of aspirin. The rattle of the pills as he took out two made his brain feel like it too rattled about. He put the bottle back, careful to close the cabinet quietly.

He downed the pain relievers—another wonderful invention of this realm and one he would be forever grateful to Emma for clueing him into.

Emma.

Damn.

He remembered the reason behind his hangover.

Yesterday had been her birthday. She hadn't come.

He told himself the disappointment was because he'd botched his chance at proper revenge when he left her. That was it, that was all Emma was to him. A means to an end.

Well, nothing for it now. Without Emma and with no way for him to go get her, he would never see the look of recognition in the Crocodile's eyes.

But that didn't mean the man wouldn't die.

Rumplestiltskin would still pay for what he'd done, whether he remembered it or not. The revenge might be cheapened a little by Regina's false memories, but that didn't mean Killian would enjoy it any less when his hook sank into the monster's chest and ripped his heart out.

Enjoy being the key word there.

Something he was completely incapable of with his head pounding the way it did.

Grabbing a few more bottles of water so he wouldn't have to shuffle across the cabin again today, Killian fell back into bed.

The Crocodile would be there tomorrow. Nothing had changed in this town for ten years. Nothing would have changed by tomorrow.

# # #

Everything had changed when tomorrow came.

Technically, everything had changed the day before, but Killian had been too busy sleeping off his night of extra-indulgence to keep abreast of developments.

The first clue should have been the chiming clock, but he managed to sleep through every toll of the damned thing until this morning, when it pulled him from pleasant dreams.

Ten years and that clock never made a sound or moved an inch. He hardly dared hope as he threw his clothes on—all he really did was straighten the clothes he'd been sleeping in and don his jacket—and rushed above deck, hook still in his hand. He couldn't see the clock tower from the docks, but he knew where the best information was to be had.

On a whim, Killian decided to stop by the shipyard, to see if the harbormaster had any news.

The harbormaster hadn't come in yet, but all the proof Killian needed lay neatly folded at the door.

Emma's face stared up at him from the _Daily Mirror_. A rather unflattering picture, but there was no mistaking that face. He would have to be dead to forget that face and possibly not even then. He snatched up the paper, retreating back to the _Miss Guided_.

Heart pounding, he opened the paper, his eyes scanning the headline and the article, dissatisfied with the details it gave. Nothing about how she came, only that she crashed early on the 19th and stayed overnight in a holding cell before being released. Driving drunk didn't sound like Emma, but then, it had been ten years.

A lot could change in ten years.

Killian spent hours alternating between obsessive cleaning and rereading the article, scanning the rest of the paper for anything else linked to Emma—anything to tell him what he would find when he finally saw her.

Would he see her?

Should he see her?

It had been ten years and they parted on dismal terms.

The look on her face the morning he left still haunted his dreams.

Could she forgive him?

As quickly as the thought came, Killian pushed it away. He interest in Emma only extended to her breaking the curse and allowing him his revenge. Her arrival changed things, though. Killian scrapped all his earlier plans. He would go back to being patient. He had waited nearly three centuries for this moment and he wasn't going to botch it by being hasty.

First things first, Killian decided putting down the paper, he needed to know what the situation in town was. He wasn't ready to give the game up to Rumplestiltskin just yet, but he could do some digging amongst the other inhabitants in this town. If any of them remembered their past, chances were Rumplestiltskin remembered his.

Shrugging back into his jacket, Killian left the boat, deciding to cut across to Second Avenue instead of hiking up Third. Best not to tempt fate—or his self-control—just yet.

It was dark—evening came early in Storybrooke—as he made his way to Main Street. _Granny's_ would be the place to go or perhaps he could stop by the _White Rabbit_ , grab a drink while he did his snooping. Very little chance for a premature run-in with the Crocodile at the _Rabbit_. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten much of anything since this morning—had he really spent all day mooning over that newspaper article?

A bright flash of color caught Killian's eyes as he stepped onto Main Street.

Killian froze.

There it was, the beat up yellow bug looking exactly as it had when he walked away all those years ago.

He had known, reading the article he knew that she was here and she brought the car with her, but seeing the car not fifty feet down the street from him was a different thing entirely. Through the back window, he caught a glimpse of a head of long, shifting blonde hair and the shine of some light on a newspaper.

"Emma," he breathed.

More movement. From the street this time. A dark-haired woman that Killian recognized from a few mornings at _Granny's_ approached the bug, her hands clutching at a pink sweater. She leaned in, her words lost in the distance. If Emma made a response, it too was too soft for him to hear.

The teacher's next words were a little louder, surprise lacing every syllable. "You're sleeping here?"

More words Killian couldn't catch.

Emma stepped out of the car, the crack of the door echoing in Killian's bones as he watched her lean against the car, like she had done so many times before.

"…doesn't seem to have many vacancies." The end of Emma's sentence rang out loud and clear now that she stood outside the car. "None, actually. Is that normal?"

Killian stepped back into the shadows of the shoe store, heart hammering in his chest. He sucked down a lungful of air, unaware until that moment that he was holding his breath.

He couldn't fool himself any longer.

He had been waiting ten years to see her again. Hear her voice again.

"Must be the curse," Emma's companion said, drawing Killian back to the here and now.

Emma laughed and Killian shrank further into the shadows as she turned toward the dark-haired woman and, consequently, toward him. Did Emma know about the curse? No, he recognized that wry tilt to her head. She changed the conversation quickly, turning it back on the teacher.

She was different. She looked much the same, but something in the set of her shoulders and the hard edges in her voice told Killian that the girl he knew had gone through many changes in years since he last saw her. He didn't have to speak a word with Emma to know that whatever had happened in those ten years hadn't been easy and most of it hadn't been good. And that she'd gone through it alone.

Her own words confirmed his suspicions a few minutes later. By then, he gathered that she was in search of accommodations here in Storybrooke and the dark-haired woman—whom Emma apparently knew already—offered her own home as an option.

Tension flooded Emma's frame, she looked for all the world like she wanted nothing more than to run.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm not really the roommate type. It's just not my thing." She paused, her voice sinking so low Killian almost missed the end of her stumbling excuse. "I do better on my own."

The resignation in her voice hit Killian like a physical blow.

Killian stumbled back, bracing himself against the building, the cool brick rough against his forehead.

There was a lull in the women's conversation and an uneasy feeling bubbled up inside him. Had they heard him? Would they come to investigate?

Without a shadow of a doubt, he knew that this was not how he wanted Emma to find him. Lurking on some side street like a petty thief waiting for a mark. Emma already had enough to hold against him, he didn't want her to add stalking to the list.

Killian turned, striding back the way he came with his head bent low to the ground and his feet threatening to take him back to Emma and the yellow bug with every step. He managed to stay his course, though he knew two things for certain by the time he got back to the docks.

The first was that he never should have left.

And the second?

He was still in love with Emma Swan.

* * *

 **No reunion just yet, but I promise, it's coming. Because as we all know, Margaret loves reunions.**

 **Sorry it's been so long between updates. Life has been kind of crazy and writing time has been limited, so what little I've had has been devoted to my original fic project and trying to get that into queriable shape. I hope the length of this chappie makes up for the extra long wait.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy and if you do, please let me know! I love getting your reviews, sometimes they're just what I need to inspire me to write more.**


	5. Chapter 5

_October 2011_

Storybrooke was deceptively large. The town might only have one street light and one real bar, but the houses people lived in took up a ton of space. And yet, despite all that, not a single one had a room to rent. Not yesterday. Not today.

By the time Emma headed to the castle to meet Henry, she had been to Granny's and to the hardware store and talked to every proprietor in town that might know of someone looking to make extra cash renting out an attic apartment or a spare basement bedroom.

Nothing.

Considering that the bail bondsperson business wasn't exactly booming in Storybrooke, her bank account appreciated that she would be spending another night in the bug. Her back did not.

Henry jumped to his feet then he saw Emma, practically vibrating with excitement. He wore his usual jacket, having ditched his school uniform for a plaid shirt and jeans before meeting Emma.

"Come on, come on," he said, grabbing Emma by the wrist and dragging her up into the castle with him. His backpack sat on the floor, the storybook peeking out of the gaping zipper. He grabbed the book, perching precariously on the rail as he flipped it open.

Emma joined him.

"I found your father," he said without a hint of irony. "Prince Charming." He pointed to the close-up illustration of a blonde man with a cut on his chin. He bore a slight resemblance to the man who'd been holding the baby in the pages Emma burnt yesterday.

"Henry…"

Henry forged ahead. "He's in the hospital, in a coma." He tapped the picture with his finger again, this time right below a lurid, red line on the man's face. "See the scar? He has one, too."

"So?" Emma said, glad that she left plenty of room last night to play the skeptical non-believer. "Lots of people have scars."

"In the same place?" Henry said, half-chiding, half-hopeful. His balance didn't waver as he leaned toward Emma. "Don't you see what this means? The curse is keeping them apart with the coma. Now they're stuck without each other. We have to tell Miss Blanchard we found her Prince Charming."

"Okay, kid." Things were going to get out of hand if Emma didn't put the brakes on. Henry needed to understand that some of this was too…painful to rub in people's faces. "Telling someone their…" Emma stopped short of the words 'Prince Charming', biting her tongue while she came up with an easier to swallow substitute. "Soulmate is in a coma is probably not helpful." Not a much better alternative, but definitely more grounded in reality. "Not having a happy ending is painful enough, but giving someone unrealistic hope is far worse."

Emma knew that firsthand. It took years for her to realize that when the social workers told her that maybe this time a family would pick her, they were just being nice. Trying to raise her spirits. Tough love was better, in Emma's opinion. Teach a kid to hope for the moon and they'd only shatter to pieces falling back to the earth.

Henry, young and naïve and sheltered as he was, would not be deterred. "But what if I'm right? We know who they are," he said, blatantly ignoring the fact that Emma hadn't said she believed him. "Now they have to know."

"And how do you intend to make that happen?"

"By reminding him," Henry said. "We have to get her to read their story to John Doe. Then, maybe, he'll remember who he is."

Emma studied Henry. He might be onto something. Not what he thought he was onto, but maybe he had handed her the key to opening his eyes without crushing his spirit. She did not want to make that mistake again.

"Okay," Emma said.

"Okay?" Henry blinked at her, his shaggy bangs shifting as the salty breeze gusted past them.

Emma nodded. "Yeah, we'll do it. But we'll do it my way. Let me ask her." She held out her hands for the book.

Henry narrowed his eyes, then closed the book and handed it to her. "Okay, but I want to know everything that happens."

"Debriefing over breakfast at Granny's?"

Henry grinned—Emma was starting think she would never get over the way his eyes lit up when something excited him—and nodded.

"Then I guess I'd better get to work and you had better get home before your mom misses you." She shooed him off, tucking the story book underneath her arm. She wondered what it was about these stories that inspired such absolute belief in her son. All she had to do was open the book and read. A tempting idea really, curling up with the stories she read as a child.

But Emma didn't have time for fairy tales.

She slid into the bug, tossing the book of fairytales into the seat beside her and refused to look at it for the whole two minute drive to Mary Margaret's apartment.

She caught Mary Margaret just opening the little gate in front of her apartment. The skirt and sweater ensemble told Emma that the teacher was probably just getting back from work.

"Hey," Emma called, jumping out of her car, Henry's storybook tucked under her arm once again.

Mary Margaret turned, a smile already on her face. "Hi," she said, looking a little confused.

"Can we talk? It's about Henry," Emma said, blurting the words out before Mary Margaret could ask if Emma had reconsidered last night's offer.

Concern clouded the teacher's face. "Yes. Of course. Come on up. Do you mind if I make us some cocoa? I've been craving a cup all day."

"Who would say no to hot cocoa?"

They laughed as Emma followed Mary Margaret up the stairs. An awkward silence ensued as Mary Margaret rummaged around in her purse for the key and, for some reason, Emma felt the desperate need to fill it.

"Do you usually stay at the school this late?" she asked.

"What?" Mary Margaret paused, eyebrows drawing together as she glanced up at Emma.

"You look like you just came from the school," Emma said.

"Oh." The teacher looked down at her ensemble. "I guess I am still in my work clothes. No, actually, I just came from the hospital. I volunteer there a couple of nights a week. You know, whenever they need me. I'm on my dinner break. Aha!" She withdrew a cluttered keyring from her purse. Keys of all shapes and sizes jingled as she fished out the right one for the lock. "Just make yourself comfortable."

Mary Margaret shucked off her coat, hanging it and her bag on the little coatrack by the door. One of those DIY projects. The entire apartment had a shabby chic, crafty feel to it. Artfully distressed.

"Is cinnamon in your cocoa still fine?" Mary Margaret asked, heading to her little kitchen.

Emma followed her. "I prefer it that way, actually. Thanks."

"So what's going on with Henry?" Mary Margaret bustled about the kitchen, filling the electric kettle, flicking it on, rattling various drawers and cabinets as she got out the mugs and the cocoa and spoons. Cozy, comfortable busyness.

"Is there a patient at the hospital that's in a coma?" Emma asked.

Mary Margaret looked up from mixing the two cups of cocoa. "Yes. Why?"

"I need you—well, Henry wants you—to read a story from his book to him."

The teacher's movements slowed, the cocoa idly swirling around the handle of the spoon. Mary Margaret pulled it out and it clinked delicately as she set in the sink. Grabbing two sticks of cinnamon from a jar on the counter, she came over and handed Emma one of the mugs.

Mary Margaret's voice wavered uncertainly. "You want me to read to a coma patient?"

"Henry thinks it will help him remember who he was," Emma said, knowing how crazy she must sound.

"And, who does he think he was?"

"Prince Charming."

The teacher looked up, lips parting in shock. "And if I'm Snow White, he thinks me…and him…" Mary Margaret sighed, eyes rolling to the ceiling as she shook her head.

"He has a very active imagination, which is the point." Emma fixed her eyes on the teacher, hoping the woman would see the wisdom of this plan. "I can't talk him out of his beliefs, so we need to show him. Play along, do what he says and maybe, just maybe…"

"He'll see that fairy tales are just that," Mary Margaret said in a clipped tone. "That there's no such thing as love at first sight or first kiss. He'll see reality." Mary Margaret took a sip of her cocoa, her eyes focused on the distressed white surface of the counter.

"Something like that," Emma said. A little stab of sadness hit her. No matter how they went about it, Henry was going to lose a part of his childhood. Yes, a part of his childhood that caused problems for him—maybe without this fairytale thing he would make real friends—but Emma remembered what it was like to have her eyes opened to the realities of the world. It was a harsh awakening.

The teacher must have been thinking along the same line, because she barely met Emma's eyes. "Well, sadly this plan is rather genius," she said, her tone a little wistful. "We get him to the truth without hurting him."

"I told him that we will all meet tomorrow for breakfast at Granny's," Emma said, retrieving the book from the stool beside her. The book thunked soundly when she set it between them. "And you will give a full report."

"Well," Mary Margaret said. "I suppose I'll get ready for my date. I guess I'll have to do all the talking."

Emma raised her mug of cocoa, an impromptu toast. "At least you don't have to worry about him ogling the waitress."

Mary Margaret snorted, cocoa lapping at the rim of her mug as she pulled it away. "That is true."

# # #

Emma wasn't surprised when Henry slid into her booth ten minutes early the next morning, eyes shining with anticipation, lip caught between his teeth. Emma sighed. It was too early and she was too sore from her night in the bug. Emma didn't remember the car feeling so cramped ten years ago.

"Is she here yet?"

Emma sipped at her coffee, glad that Granny's guilty conscience provided the hot beverage for free. "Not yet."

Henry yanked his bag open and pulled out a handful of shiny, dark grey satin. He held it out to Emma. "Here. I grabbed you a shirt so you don't have to keep wearing the same clothes every day."

The silky fabric slipped smoothly in to Emma's hand. "That's…really thoughtful."

Whatever else Regina was screwing up in Henry's life, she'd done a good job here at least.

Emma retreated to the bathroom. The blouse wasn't really her style, but it smelled clean and fresh, if a little like mothballs. Like it had been sitting in the back of someone's closet. Regina's probably, Emma realized. Emma buttoned it up and rolled the sleeves a little. Still not quite her, but it would do.

"Thanks for the shirt," Emma said, as she returned to the table, checking that the shirt was tucked in. She threw her old tank top onto the seat. She'd wash that later. "Hey, is this your mother's?"

Henry only had half of his breakfast left. He gave her a knowing smile as he set his hot chocolate aside. "She'll never notice."

Emma lacked his confidence. She could imagine the look of fury on Regina's face. And the fact that Henry was with Emma right now probably wouldn't improve things. Regina would probably rip the shirt off her back and then have Emma arrested for public indecency.

"Where does she think you are, anyway?"

"Playing Whac-A-Mole."

"And she bought that?"

"She wants to believe it, so she does," Henry said, with a gravity that reminded Emma of his shrink. He shrugged, breaking the image of a contemplative professor.

Emma bit back a laugh at the irony. "Oh, imagine that."

Henry nodded, but the sound of the bell above the door quickly diverted his attention.

"She's here," Henry said, half-rising out of his seat.

Emma leaned forward, aware of the quickly approaching thud of Mary Margaret's footsteps. "Hey," she said, squeezing Henry's hand. "Don't get your hopes up. We're just getting started, okay?"

Henry scooted over, making room for the teacher. Emma pressed her lips together, an anxious flutter inside her chest. This was it, the moment of truth. She hoped Henry handled it well. Mary Margaret didn't even look at Henry, her eyes on Emma instead. She too was dressed differently from her usual school ensemble. She still wore a brightly colored cardigan—Emma had noticed that her outfits were increasingly vibrant—but today instead of her typical skirt or dress ensemble, she paired her lace blouse with a pair of plaid pants that went surprisingly well with her teal sweater.

Mary Margaret took a breath.

"He woke up," she said, her tone even and rehearsed sounding.

"What?"

"I knew it," Henry said, bouncing a little as he leaned over to look at his teacher. A bright grin stretched across his face, revealing his slightly too big teeth.

"I mean…" Mary Margaret shook her head, her gold earrings catching the light as she glanced between Henry and Emma. "He didn't _wake up_ wake up, but he grabbed my hand." She kept looking at Emma in that strange, searching way, like she expected Emma to have answers.

"He's remembering!" Henry said, like he was explaining something to a child.

"What did the doctor say?" The question came automatically. Emma's thoughts still snagged on those three words. He woke up. He woke up. Over and over. They made less sense each time.

"That I imagined it," Mary Margaret said. "But I'm not crazy. I know it happened." She stretched her words out, emphasizing them with such sincerity—with a belief that sounded suspiciously like Henry.

Or maybe, Henry had picked it up from his teacher.

"We have to go back," Henry said. "You have to read to him again."

Mary Margaret met Henry's eyes, a brief moment of indecision flashing across her face before she nodded, like the idea made perfect sense. She jumped up, grabbing Henry's wrist.

"Let's go," the teacher said.

"Wait," Emma said, unprepared for anything that had happened in the last few seconds. She expected disappointment, tears, sullenness. Not...this. She stumbled to her feet. "Wait what?"

Mary Margaret whirled back to Emma as Henry rushed past. Her eyes burned. "If I got through to him, if we made a connection…"

"You don't believe…"

"That he's Prince Charming?" Mary Margaret dropped her volume, but none of her intensity. "Of course not. Somehow, some way, I touched him." Her sentence ended on a tremulous, urgent note, the corners of her mouth curving up into a hopeful smile.

The bell above the door jangled again. "Hurry," Henry said. He bobbed on his tiptoes, his fingers curling around the door in a white knuckle grip. He spun and raced out the door as Mary Margaret followed him.

Emma stared after them, feeling like someone knocked the breath out of her. The chime of the bell as the door closed behind Mary Margaret roused her somewhat and she pursued them, half-jogging to catch up.

# # #

Henry maintained his relentless pace, hurrying ahead of Mary Margaret and Emma before doubling back to say, "Come on, come on" before he trotted off again, pulling away from the two women again. He repeated the entire process all the way to the hospital and through the halls.

They entered a ward brightly decorated with children's drawings and handmade construction paper kites and flowers. Emma vaguely remembered Henry mentioning something about his class decorating at the hospital when he discovered John Doe. A crowd of four or five doctors and nurses stood outside a sectioned off, glass-walled room. The doors were propped wide open.

"You're right – he's waking up," Henry said, his feet barely touching the floor.

A man whirled around at the sound of Henry's voice. Graham. The orderly he was questioning booked it elsewhere as Graham blocked Henry's path. Emma and Mary Margaret slowed to a stop.

"Henry," he said. "You should stay back."

Mary Margaret took a few steps forward, drawing even with Henry. "What's going on? Is it John Doe? Is he okay?"

"He's missing." Graham glanced back at the hospital room, revealing an empty hospital bed and a concerned Regina.

Emma groaned.

Regina noticed them too, her look of concern changing to one of anger as she waved off the doctor she spoke to and left the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Regina asked without bothering to hide her dislike of Emma. "And you –" Regina's hand shot out, seizing Henry's wrist and pulling him toward her. Gently, Emma noted, despite her cutting tone. "I thought you were at the arcade. Now you're lying to me?"

"What happened to John Doe? Did someone take him?" Mary Margaret asked, pulling them all back to the most pressing issue

"We don't know yet," Graham said. "His IVs were ripped out but there's no sign for sure there was a struggle."

Henry turned on his mom. "What did you do?"

Regina's head jerked back. "You think I had something to do with this?"

"It is curious that the Mayor is here." Emma crossed her arms, staring Regina down.

"I'm here because I'm his emergency contact."

"You know him?" Mary Margaret's voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

"I found him," Regina said, acknowledging the teacher for the first time, Emma noted. "On the side of the road years ago with no ID. I brought him here."

The doctor Regina was speaking with earlier joined their little group. "Mayor Mills saved his life."

"Will he be okay?" Mary Margaret asked.

The doctor swept his white coat back, revealing more of his lavender shirt as he propped his hands on his hips. The gesture was oddly familiar and it took Emma a moment to realize that was because Killian used to do the same thing. He never had a long coat—not in all the time she'd known him—but sometimes, when he was caught up in a thought, he used to make the same swishing gesture when he propped his hand on his hip. Like a habit.

Thankfully, nothing else about the blonde man reminded Emma of Killian.

"Okay?" the doctor said, like he spoke to an unruly child. "The man's been on feeding tubes for years on constant supervision. He needs to get back here right away or, quite honestly, 'okay' might be a pipe dream."

Emma jumped into action, grateful to be presented with a problem that she could fix. A problem that she was good at fixing.

"Well then," she said, "let's quit yapping and start looking."

"That's what we're doing?" Regina said.

The woman's condescending tone rubbed Emma in all the wrong ways. She felt like a sullen teenager as she turned back to glare at Regina.

Regina had her arms folded across her chest, one hip jutting out and her head tilted in a way that dared Emma to take a swing at her.

"Just stay out of this, dear," she said. Regina reached down, her hand sliding down Henry's arm and folding over his hand. "And since I clearly can't keep you away from my son, I guess I'm just going to have to keep my son away from you." Holding her jacket she headed for the door, pausing to eye Emma up and down. "Enjoy my shirt, because that's all you're getting. Sheriff," she said, turning back to Graham. As she did, Henry reached out and squeezed Emma's fingers, throwing her an apologetic look behind his mother's back. "Find John Doe. You heard Dr. Whale. Time is precious."

Henry followed docilely beside Regina as they exited the ward, not looking back at Emma once. That hurt, but maybe it was better that way.

Graham exhaled audibly once Regina was out of the ward and began the business at hand. "Doctor, how long between your rounds since you last saw him?"

"Twelve hours or so."

"Then that's what we need to account for." Graham clomped past Emma, Mary Margaret close on his heels. Looking back, he said, "Aren't you coming?"

"I think Regina made it quite clear that she wants me out of the way."

Graham tilted his head, one side of his mouth quirking up. "And since when has that stopped you?" he asked. "Come on, you're good at this. I could use a second set of eyes."

Emma joined the group, her jacket slapping gently against her hip. She'd meant to put it on when she left the diner, but Henry moved so fast she forgot about it. Emma listened as Graham questioned someone, trying to track down who was on duty last night. That sent the three of them down a cramped hallway to an equally cramped room, stuffed full of file boxes and outdated equipment.

A compact, middle-aged man sprang up as they entered the small rectangle of bare space that comprised his station, the swivel chair he just occupied spun in a slow him, a square, black television monitor sat atop a mountain of technology and wires.

"Walter," Graham said, holding his hand out to the small man. "They tell me you were on duty last night?"

Walter, in his pressed beige uniform and black tie, was clearly what passed for security here.

"Yeah," Walter said. "I was about to get off when they discovered he was missing. They asked me to stay."

"Good. We'll need to see the tape from last night."

Walter nodded, sitting back down at the desk and sifting through several video tapes until he found the right one. As he popped the tape into an ancient VCR, the door behind them opened and admitted Emma's friend from her night in jail, Leroy.

Leroy's grip around his mop handle tightened when he saw Emma. He glared as he stalked in wearing the same rumpled uniform he wore the morning Emma met him.

"Morning, Walter. Sheriff." Leroy nodded to each in turn before leaning against a shelving unit full of ancient projectors and a giant, computerish thing Emma didn't even recognize.

"Morning, Leroy," Walter replied.

His chair squeaked as he leaned back, eyes on the small TV screen as they watched the feed from last night's security tape. The grainy black and white recording showed hour upon hour of quiet, the distortion of the screen as they sped through the night's recording was the only visible movement. Emma stayed silent, as did everyone else in the room, but she couldn't shake the fact that something didn't fit. Like when you got home, only to realize that someone had gone through your stuff because one thing was put back wrong.

They reached the end of the tape with no sign of anyone entering or leaving the ward except for the night nurse. The man came and went without incident, spending about five minutes in John Doe's glass room before he left.

"Nothing," Mary Margaret said. She had a ring, a modest silver thing with a green stone that she removed and replaced on her finger in the mindless manner that some people clicked pens. "But that's the only door in. How else could he have gotten out?"

"Maybe he climbed out a window?" Walter said.

"Those windows are just for show, Numb nut," Leroy growled. "He can't have gotten out that way."

"Are you suggesting he walked through a wall?"

Graham stepped forward hands outstretched and the two men fell silent. "You two were the only employees on the floor last night. And you saw nothing."

Walter yawned, scrubbing his hand across his eyes. He seemed to have missed the question until Leroy caught his eye and jerked his head toward Graham.

Walter blinked. "Not a thing."

"Did anyone walk by?" Emma asked, looking first to the still yawning Walter and then at Leroy.

Leroy shrugged. "I didn't see nothin'."

Graham sighed. Emma felt his frustration. This was the real world, not the X-men. People didn't just poof out of existence, at least, not without the help of something like an atom bomb or something equally destructive.

Graham turned back to Mary Margaret. "Miss Blanchard, was there anything unusual you saw during your trip with your class?"

Emma stared at the screen again. Mary Margaret had been here yesterday. And Henry's class had been here yesterday. That was important, but why?

"I don't think so," Mary Margaret said as the final piece slipped into place.

Bingo.

"We're looking at the wrong tape," Emma said. She strode forward, tapping at the screen, her fingernail making a tink-tink-tink sound as she explained. "This is the ward where Henry's class put up decorations. If this was really the tape from last night, we'd see the banners the kids hung." She waved her hand at the monitor one last time before she slumped into the chair beside Walter.

Leroy scoffed, his glower deepening in Walter's direction. "You fell asleep again."

"You selling me out?" Walter accused, his gaze snapping to Leroy.

"I ain't getting fired for this."

"At least I don't drink on the job."

"Gentlemen, enough." Graham's voice echoed through the small room, with an authority that proved he'd been at this job a long time. "Where's the real tape?"

With a dark look in Leroy's direction, Walter opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out another video cassette. He popped out the erroneous tape and put in the new one. When the video feed resumed, the ward sported the giant, "Get Well Soon" banner, the bubble letters a sure sign that Mary Margaret invested a lot of effort into these decorations. Walter hit rewind and they all leaned in. A flicker of movement flashed in the screen and Walter clicked a few buttons, playing the video back in real time at normal speed.

A tall man, wearing a scanty hospital gown crossed the screen, heading for in the wall with a glaring 'Exit' sign above it.

"He walked out alone," Mary Margaret said, breathlessly. "He's okay."

Emma tapped the pause button and pointed at the time stamp on the screen. "Four hours ago. Where does this door lead?"

"The woods," Leroy said.

Emma looked at the clock and groaned. Out in the woods for four hours after being in a coma for who knew how long. The relief of seeing him on the monitor flicked out.

"We'd better go," Graham said, pulling a walkie talkie from his belt. Graham left the room calling for backup.

Emma flung her jacket around her shoulders, her arms sliding smoothly into the sleeves as she followed Graham down the hall and out the door. The patter of footsteps behind her alerted her to Mary Margaret following them.

"You should go home," Emma said. "Enjoy your weekend. We'll call you if we find anything."

"I'm coming with you," Mary Margaret protested. Her feet quickened, her hand clamping around Emma's arm a moment later. "I will not just sit by the phone twiddling my thumbs. I want to help."

"Ladies," Graham said, "we have work to do. Ms. Blanchard, you're welcome to join the search if you like."

Emma sputtered. "But she…I…" She stared at Graham's retreating back as he continued to bark orders into the walkie. She caught Mary Margaret's arm as the woman tried to follow. "I don't think this is a good idea. We don't know what we'll find. It might not be good, Mary Margaret."

"With all due respect," Mary Margaret said. "He reached out to me, Emma. Somehow, something I did woke him up. He's out there because of me."

"I'm the one that sent you here last night. Let me take care of this."

"I can handle myself, Emma. No matter what we find, but I'm responsible for this. I owe it to him to do everything I can to set this right." Her greens eyes got a hard, glinty look to them. The stubborn set of her jaw reminded Emma, strangely enough, of Henry. "Look at it this way. If you take me with you, you can keep an eye on me, but I am going looking for John Doe. With or without you."

Emma growled. "Fine. But you stay with me, got it?"

"I can live with that," Mary Margaret said, adding under her breath, so low Emma could barely hear it. "Mom."

# # #

John Doe had moved fast and far apparently by the time they started looking for him.

Graham instructed everyone to fan out, assigning his people in groups of two and three. He kept Emma and Mary Margaret with him. By late afternoon, John Doe was still MIA and Emma was starting to get worried. Already, the sky grew dark, especially here in the thickest part of the forest, but the trail Graham finally picked up led here. Around them the nighttime forest start to wake up, owls and strange hooting birds that sent chills down Emma's spine. She couldn't imagine being alone and confused all the way out here.

The gathering twilight agitated Graham too, the way he hurried, jumping over roots while his eyes never truly left the ground, said as much. Emma and Mary Margaret had to half jog to keep up with him.

Graham slowed, kneeling as he pressed his hand over something green and growing.

"What is it?" she asked, glad for the chance to catch her breath.

Graham scanned the woods ahead. "The trail runs out here."

Emma's heart sank. If they didn't find John Doe, Henry would be crushed and not the kind of way you got over. If the kid was anything like her, which he was, he would blame himself. Just like Mary Margaret seemed to. That was the last thing Emma wanted to happen.

"You sure?" Emma asked. "Because I thought tracking was one of your skills."

Graham waved her off. "Just give me a second. This is my world. I got it."

"Right. Sorry." Emma felt a twinge of guilt. Graham had no control over what John Doe did or didn't do, it was unfair of her to take her anxiety out on him. She sighed.

"What does he mean, 'His world'?" Mary Margaret asked, footsteps crunching announcing her advance to Emma's side. "Isn't finding people your thing, too?"

"Sure. Just, the people I find usually run places like Vegas. Not a lot hit the woods." It goaded Emma that she was little more than moral support right now. The outdoors really weren't Emma's forte. She was a city girl, through and through.

Mary Margaret nodded. "That's an interesting job – finding people. How'd you fall into it?

"Looking for people is just what I've done. As long as I can remember."

"What made you start?"

A name popped into her head, but thankfully, Mary Margaret spoke again before Emma blurted it out.

"Your parents?" The teacher blushed at the surprise on Emma's face. "Henry told me that your… Th-that you were from a similar situation to his own."

Emma swallowed. Her parents might not have been the first people she got serious about finding, but the result had been the same. Just like with Killian, Emma found no trace of them. Like they never existed.

"Did you ever find them?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma smiled grimly. "Depends who you ask."

A branch snapped behind them and both women whirled towards the stumbling footsteps. Emma's heart leapt into her throat. Was it John Doe? Maybe the sound of their conversation drew him in. A small figure crested the hill behind them, the beam of a flashlight casting spots across Emma's vision as Henry can running down the hill.

Mary Margaret took a step forward, ready to catching him as he skidded to a stop in front of them. "Henry!"

"Did you find him yet?" Henry asked breathlessly.

"No, not yet," Emma said. "You shouldn't be here." Emma could already see the look on Regina's face when the woman finally tracked her son down. The mayor would probably throw Emma in jail for kidnapping or some other nonsense.

Maybe if she explained the situation to Graham, he could vouch for her.

"I can help," Henry said, green eyes pleading earnestly with Emma. "I know where he's going."

Mary Margaret blink, taking a step back. "And where's that?"

Henry turned on her. "He's looking for you."

"Oh, Henry…" Mary Margaret cast a troubled glance at Emma.

Emma understood. This whole thing had been a mistake. They thought they were helping and they only made things worse, not just for Henry, but for poor John Doe as well.

Before Mary Margaret could say anything else, Graham came trudging back toward them walkie in hand. He took one look at Henry, sighed, and turned to Emma and Mary Margaret.

"It's getting dark," he said. "I've got people coming with flashlights. We're going to meet them."

Emma followed him up the hill, nearly falling flat on her face when she misjudged a root just as she caught up with Graham. His hand shot out to steady her. Emma jerked away, not expecting the gentle brush at her elbow.

"Sorry," Graham said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Shrugging it off, Emma glanced back at Henry. "We should send him back with someone."

"I doubt that would work," Graham said. "He'll just be right back out here once he's alone again."

"Then have them stay with him. Regina is going to blow a fuse when she finds out about this."

Graham tilted his head back, eyes scanning the darkening canopy above them. "It's getting dark and John Doe is still out here somewhere. It's cold, he's probably lost and confused. If he's got any chance, we need to find him soon. Which means, I need all the people on this I can get. I can't waste people on babysitting a nine-year-old who just wants to help. At least with us, we know he'll be safe."

"But…"

"Unless you're volunteering, the answer is no." Graham's hand brushed her arm again, sliding up to her shoulder before giving it a quick squeeze. "Regina knows her son. I'll smooth things over with her. Don't worry."

Emma huffed, but let up, for now. This kid had to have a bed time at some point and she would not be the one explaining things to Regina if he missed it. Let Graham take the heat if he wanted.

They met up with the other searchers, mostly staff gathered from the hospital and a few townspeople like Archie and Mary Margaret. Emma's grumpy friend handed out flashlights while Graham gave each group instructions and made sure all the walkies had fresh batteries. They set out again ten minutes later, Henry tagging along behind Emma.

"This isn't going to do any good," Henry said once they were out of earshot of the group.

"Well, thanks for that rousing vote of optimism," Emma said, though she was inclined to agree with her kid. Up ahead, she could see Graham sweeping his light over the trail, looking for any new clues, anything that might show him a new trail.

"Don't worry, Henry," Mary Margaret said, sounding grimmer than her words let on. "We'll find him."

"That's exactly my point." Henry's sneakers crunched across sticks and leaves as he caught up to his teacher. His voice rose with each sentence, drowning out the warbles of whatever night time bird perched somewhere to their left. "You're the one who woke him up. You're the last one he saw. He wants to find you!"

Mary Margaret's flashlight flashed over Henry's face as she turned. "Henry, it's not about me. I just…" The teacher paused, glancing over at Emma, pleading for…back up, the right words, an easy way out? Whatever it was, she didn't find it with Emma. "I think he's lost and confused. He's been in a coma a long time."

Henry wouldn't let up. "But he loves you!" he cried, in a voice that would probably send John Doe running even further in the other direction. "You need to stop chasing him, and let him find you."

Emma whirled on him, cutting off the rest of his tirade. "Kid. You need to go home. Where's your mom? She's going to kill me and then you…and then me again."

"She dropped me at the house," Henry said, fidgeting. Not in the dirty liar way. In the I-don't-want-to-admit-this-but-it's-true-way. Emma had seen it enough times to recognize it. Maybe this was it. Maybe Henry was felt like he was alone and he was tired of it. He kept talking right through Emma's revelation. "Then, went right out."

"Well, we need to get you back immediately."

"No!"

Emma opened her mouth to tell Henry that his mom was doing her best and that if he was lonely, he could spend more time with her when Graham shouted, bringing them all running to where he crouched by a broken fern. A blue hospital bracelet lay caught on the fern, the white label reflecting Graham's flashlight back into their eyes.

Emma's heart stuttered at the smear of red over the stark, black letters.

Mary Margaret drew in a sharp breath. "Is that…"

"Blood," Emma said.

Graham lifted the bracelet, dabbing at the blood. "It's fresh." He swung his light out, searching the path ahead. "He's heading for the river." The sheriff jumped to his feet, taking off down the trail, leaving the others to trail after his bobbing flashlight beam. The four of them raced down the hill, it was a miracle that they didn't break their necks, and burst out of the trees onto hard cement. Emma recognized the road out of town. Graham hesitated slightly, barely breaking his stride as he searched for the next sign.

He must have found something, because he darted across the road and down a path of wet river stones before halting.

"Where is he?" Mary Margaret shouted, skidding to a halt right behind Graham. "Can you see him?"

"The trail dies at the water line," Graham said.

They all looked out over the water, the beams of their flashlights reflecting off the water of the river. It was a long way across and deep too. Water sloshed past the shallows, little eddies trickling between large river rocks.

"Oh my god!" Mary Margaret shouted, her light landing on a still form in blue lying in a few inches of water. His back was to them. Chucking her flashlight, Mary Margaret splashed through the water, her voice rising with every inch she covered. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"

Graham yanked the walkie from his belt buckle as he followed. "I need an ambulance! At the old Toll Bridge, as soon as possible."

Emma was right behind him, taking John Doe by the ankles as Mary Margaret and Graham each got an arm. They hoisted him, Mary Margaret still shouting, as they moved over the uneven ground and out of the water. John Doe's feet were slick and wet, forcing Emma to readjust her grip with every step.

"Slow down, slow down, slow down," Mary Margaret said as they moved to dried ground. She knelt as they lowered the man to the ground, her voice thick as she cried, "No, no, no, no, no! I found you! It's going to be okay."

Emma stood, not sure what to do. She couldn't even tell if the man was breathing. If he was breathing, wouldn't he be making some noise? Could you drown in two inches of water? Emma watched as Mary Margaret shook the man, his head lolling in a boneless way that sent chills down Emma's spine. This was it. John Doe was dead.

"Help's coming," Graham said, though whether he spoke to Mary Margaret or John Doe remained unclear.

"Is he okay?" Henry's voice pierced through the haze. He stood, flashlight clutched in trembling hands as he surveyed the scene with wide, shining eyes.

"Henry…" Emma jumped over John's Doe feet.

"Is he going to be okay?" Henry asked again as Emma rushed over to him.

Emma clutched him to her, covering his eyes. "Henry, don't look. Okay? Don't look."

"Come back to us!" Mary Margaret shook John Doe again. She leaned close and her next words were lost as she checked John Doe's breathing again. Placing both hands over his sternum, Mary Margaret started chest compressions, using her whole weight to force his chest to move. The sound of her counting under her breath was just audible before she moved to force air into his lungs.

John Doe jerked as Mary Margaret pulled away, spewing water as he coughed wet, racking coughs. Mary Margaret helped him roll over, supporting his head until his lungs were clear and he collapsed back with a loud, ragged inhale.

"You saved me," he rasped.

The tight band around Emma's chest vanished and she felt like she could breathe again too. It was the strangest feeling. She told herself it was because of Henry. That as much as she wanted him to live in reality, experiencing death was not something she wanted him to witness firsthand like this.

"She did it," Henry said, smiling with his whole voice. "She did it! She woke him up."

Emma swallowed. "Yeah, kid. She did."

"Thank you," John Doe said. He had a deep voice, low and soothing even after half-drowning.

"Who are you?" Mary Margaret asked.

"I don't know."

Mary Margaret cradled his head in her hands as the sound of sirens drifted over the wind, nearly drowning out her reply. "It's okay. You're going to be okay."

# # #

John Doe held Mary Margaret's hand the whole ride back to the hospital, the four of them packed into the ambulance like sardines. Every time the ambulance bumped or one of the paramedics hooked him up to something new, John Doe roused and his eyes sought Mary Margaret's. She smiled and leaned in, fingers caressing his still damp hair as she murmured assurances.

Henry watched the whole spectacle with rapt attention and an ever widening grin.

They arrived at the hospital and an efficient, collected busyness descended.

The ambulance doors opened, revealing an army of nurses and doctors dressed in white and ready to take the gurney from the paramedics. Mary Margaret was forced to let go of John Doe's hand as they surrounded him, but nearly drowning had taken a lot out of him. He barely responded as the nurse wheeled him through the hospital doors.

A car door slammed as Emma and Henry climbed out of the ambulance and Graham caught up to them, following close on Emma's heels as they all rushed after the procession of medical professionals. Someone called out, clearing the hallway and the doctor—Emma now knew his name was Whale thanks to Mary Margaret's gentle explanations in the ambulance—dismissed the paramedics as they wheeled the gurney right back into the glass-walled hospital room.

Two nurses in little white hats closed the doors, leaving Emma, Mary Margaret, and Henry to watch nervously as they hooked John Doe back up to the machines and got his IV drip hanging again.

"David?" a woman called, but Emma ignored it. Another poor person with a sick loved one. Suddenly, a blonde woman Emma had never seen before pushed past through the doors and into the room, calling, "David? Is that you?" She rushed to John Doe's bedside, reaching for his hand before Emma had even processed the words.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Doctor Whale jumped in, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Oh my god…" the woman said.

"Ma'am," Whale continued, tightening his hold, "you can't be in here. Please, you can't be here right now." He pulled her over to the side gently, speaking in a low, calm voice as he asked her to wait. The blonde woman nodded, clutching herself tightly as she watched the goings on, a look of pure anxiety on her face.

"Who is that?" Mary Margaret asked.

"His wife," a familiar and unwelcome voice behind them said.

They all turned to see Regina, arms crossed over her chest, a cold smile on her face as she surveyed them. Her eyes rested on Henry and the smile turned into a grim line, but instead of reprimanding him, she spoke to Graham.

"Sheriff," Regina said, "a word."

Emma found a chair as Regina conferred with Graham in hushed tones a few feet away. She listened and nodded, her eyes cutting to Henry just once before she shook her head. Nothing would have made Emma happier than to slip out the same door John Doe had used earlier and leave, but she also wanted answers. And unfortunately, Regina had those.

After a few minutes, Graham left and Regina rejoined Emma and Mary Margaret.

"His name is David Nolan," Regina said, nodding toward the hospital room where John Doe—David—lay back while Dr. Whale listened to his lungs. The blonde woman watched with the sappiest smile Emma had ever seen. Regina nodded at her. "And that's his wife, Kathryn. And the joy on her face, well, it's put me in quite the forgiving mood." Her eyes slid coolly from Mary Margaret to linger on Emma, the message brutally clear. Finally, her attention shifted to Henry, who slouched in a chair next to David's room, trying to appear as small as possible. Still in the same cool, detached voice, Regina said, "We'll talk about your insubordination later. Do you know what insubordination means?"

Henry shook his head.

"It means you're grounded."

Sighing, Henry sank lower in his chair, eyes on Emma. Her heart went out to the kid. Yeah, he'd disobeyed his mom, but he had only wanted to help.

Before she could stick up for him—and probably make the situation even worse—Kathryn Nolan slipped through the glass door, focusing on Mary Margaret as the door swung shut silently behind her. She still held herself very close, her hair and the oval shape of her face reminding Emma of Lisa Kudrow from F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

"Thank you," Kathryn said. "Thank you for finding my David."

"Um, I-I don't understand," Mary Margaret said, her hands fluttering as though she didn't quite know what to do with them. "You didn't… You didn't know that he was here in a coma?"

Kathryn took a deep breath. "A few years ago, David and I were not getting along. It was my fault, I know that now," she said, looking at her shoes. "I was difficult and unsupportive. I told him if he didn't like things, he could leave. And he did. And I didn't stop him. It was the worst mistake I ever made."

"You didn't go look for him?" Emma asked.

"I assumed he'd left town all this time," Kathryn said. "And now I know why I never heard from him. Now I get to do what I've wanted to do forever—say I'm sorry. Now we get a second chance."

Emma offered a rueful smile as Kathryn's eyes met her again. This at least, she could understand. The things she wished she could do over would probably fill a small novel. She studied Henry, still in a position that would give a chiropractor nightmares. If she were offered a second chance, would she take it?

"That's wonderful," Mary Margaret said, the smile on her face genuine.

Doctor Whale joined them, the glass doors shutting softly behind him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets—really, could the guy come up with a more stereotypically "doctor" thing to do—and nodded to Mary Margaret before addressing Kathryn.

"Well, it's something of a miracle."

"He's okay?" Kathryn asked, her voice hushed.

The doctor nodded. "Ah, physically, he's on the mend, um, his memory is another issue." Whale's eyes didn't rest on any one person for too long. He had a way of dividing his attention amongst everyone in the room, his eyes sliding from person to person before their gazes quite met. "It may take time, if at all."

"What brought him back?" Mary Margaret fiddled with the bottom button of her cardigan, fingernails catching on the edge in a distracted manner that didn't read on her face.

"That's the thing. There's no explanation. Something just clicked in him."

Emma sat forward, elbows resting on her knees. "He just got up and decided to go for a stroll?" she asked, brow furrowing.

"He woke up and he was delirious and his first instinct was to go find something, I guess." Whale shrugged, his lab coat shuffling around his shoulders with the gesture.

Henry, who sat quietly listening to everything with wide eyes, finally spoke. "Someone."

Emma bit her lip, regret a rancid presence in her gut. Henry's belief would only grow stronger because of this, but how could they have known that Nolan would have such epically bad timing?

The four of them watched as the doctor ushered Kathryn in to see her husband. No sooner had the door closed behind them, than Regina sprang into motion.

"Henry, let's go," she said, turning away without a second glance at Emma or Mary Margaret.

Henry jumped to his feet, scuffing past Mary Margaret before he stopped. "Wait, my backpack," he said.

Regina, of course, bought the act.

His second time leaving, he paused next to his teacher. "Don't believe them. You're the one he was looking for."

"Henry…" Mary Margaret's voice held a note of chiding, but her face showed a different story.

Emma's heart sank a little further as she saw just how much the teacher had believed him. Emma didn't think Mary Margaret was naïve enough to actually think David was her true love, but who wouldn't fall for the idea that there was something special about them, something that connected with another person in a deep, profound way.

She'd thought that once too.

Henry didn't give up. "He was going to the Troll Bridge," he said, eyes sliding to where his mother waited for him. "It's like the end of the story."

Mary Margaret sighed, shaking her head. "Henry, he was going there because it's the last thing I read to him."

"No, it's because you belong together."

"Henry," Regina cut in.

Eye darting between Mary Margaret and Regina one last time, Henry ran off, rushing past his mom and out the door. His sneakers squeaked against the tile floor. Mary Margaret didn't seem to note Regina and Henry pushing through the door. Her eyes were fixed on the couple in the hospital room.

This felt wrong.

Pushing down on her knees, Emma rose, chasing after Regina and Henry.

"Madam Mayor!"

Her voice echoed loudly in the empty hall. Emma flinched, hoping she hadn't woken anyone, but didn't slow her pace as she caught up to Regina. The other woman placed a hand on Henry's shoulder, telling him to head for the car before she rounded on Emma.

"Miss Swan," Regina said, her face fixed in a definite scowl. "I let you off the hook back there. Don't press it."

Emma ignored the warning. "I'm sorry, but Mrs. Nolan? Kind of feels like her story could be a load of crap." Emma waited for that to sink in, scanning Regina's face for any hint that the woman knew more than she was letting on. A good part of Emma was willing to bet she did. Regina, however, didn't even twitch, so Emma kept going. "All this time, there's a John Doe lying around in a coma and nobody puts it in the news, nobody goes looking. Something's not right here."

Facts. These were facts that didn't add up. And facts that didn't add up were far more convincing to Emma that a book of fairytales. She could work with facts.

Someone was definitely keeping something from her.

"Well, what else would make sense to you?" Regina asked. "Why would Miss Nolan lie? Do you think I cast a spell on her?" Regina smirked, her raised eyebrow accusing Emma of buying into Henry's crazy idea.

"I think it's rather strange you've been his emergency contact all these years and you only found her now." Emma felt better, being able to quantify the uneasy feeling in her stomach.

Regina crossed her arms, expression still implacable. "Well, this town is bigger than you know. It's entirely possible to get lost here. It's entirely possible for bad things to happen."

Now it was Emma's turn to look skeptical. "And just when it's convenient you manage to solve the mystery?"

"Thanks to you," Regina shot back.

Emma blinked. That was the last thing she expected the mayor to say. Something evasive, yes, Emma had been prepared for that.

"That tape you found was a stroke of genius," Regina said, her sly smile growing. "So, we went back and looked at past tapes. Turns out Mr. Doe's been talking in his sleep. He's been calling out for a Kathryn. After that, it wasn't hard to put the pieces together."

Regina's words made sense. Emma couldn't argue with it. She'd seen firsthand how little effort people like Leroy and Walter put into their jobs, no wonder no one caught on. Emma took a step back, maybe the whole Henry thing had her acting a little paranoid. Had she gotten so caught up in wanting to catch Regina at something she made up a scenario in her head?

Emma was better than this.

Regina studied Emma's face, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. "And here I thought you and Mary Margaret would be pleased. "

Guilt stabbed at Emma's gut again, erasing all lingering sense of unease.

"True love won out." Regina smiled. "So bask in the moment, dear. Were it not for you two, they would have lived their lives completely alone. That's why I'm willing to forgive your incessant rudeness. All this has reminded me of something oh so very important. How grateful I am to have Henry. Because not having someone? Well, that's the worst curse imaginable."

Emma swallowed, unable to speak as Regina turned on her heel and walked off. The words hit low and Emma struggled not to let Regina know how close to home she'd just come.

# # #

Emma tossed and turned in the backseat of the bug, trying to get comfortable.

She couldn't get Regina's words out of her head. A curse of loneliness. What better way to describe how her life had gone? No matter what happened or who she found, Emma Swan had always ended up alone. Now for the first time, Emma wondered how different things would be if she'd kept Henry. What path might her life have taken?

Would she still be alone?

Across the street, Emma could see the light shining dimly from Mary Margaret's little apartment.

What would it be like to not be alone anymore?

Screw that, what would be like to not have a seatbelt digging into your back?

Emma sat up, grabbing her jacket as she climbed over the seat and out of the car, slamming the door behind her. She was getting too old to be sleeping in the back of cramped cars. At least, that was what she told herself as she slipped through the gate and crunched up the walk to the little door inside the apartment. Within minutes, she found herself standing at Mary Margaret's green door for the second night in a row.

Her stomach turning somersaults, Emma knocked on the door.

There was no noise from inside the apartment and Emma debated knocking again, but maybe Mary Margaret had fallen asleep with the light on. If that was the case, Emma didn't want to wake her. She waffled back and forth between staying and leaving and had almost made up her mind to leave when the door swung open to reveal Mary Margaret.

The teacher tilted her head, green eyes surveying Emma. "Emma," she said, half statement, half question.

Emma hugged herself. "Sorry to bother you so late. Is that spare room still available?"

Mary Margaret nodded, stepping back to let Emma enter.

Emma hesitated for just a moment, the somersaulting stomach graduating to full-fledged tumbling runs. It was a crazy feeling, like there was no going back if she crossed the threshold. Which was a ridiculous idea. Emma knew full well she could leave at any time she wanted. It wasn't like she was signing a lease or anything. Still, it took a minute to screw up her courage and plunge through the door.

The strange thing was…once she was over the threshold, it felt like a weight lifted from her shoulders.

* * *

 **Sorry for the lack of Killian in this one, but he just didn't fit. Don't worry. I'll make up for that soon. This chapter gets us one chapter closer to the reunion after all (Still not telling which chapter that happens in, be patient)...and then...well, y'all will see. It'll be worth the wait, I think. Any guesses as to how it's going to go down?**

 **Anyways. Enjoy. Let me know what you think! I love hearing back from all y'all, helps keep me motivated. Let me know what your favorite part has been so far.**


	6. Chapter 6

_October 2011_

"You sure we can be out in the open?" Henry asked as they passed the library, bright sunlight bringing the newspapers blocking the glass into stark relief. Above them, the hour tolled. Henry trudged beside Emma, arms hanging loosely at his sides, sneakers scuffing against the sidewalk with an early morning ease only a nine-year-old could possess.

Emma stood a little straighter when she realized her boots were making nearly the same sound.

"Enough sneaking around," Emma said. "If your mom has a problem with me walking you to a school bus, I am more than happy to have that chat." A chat where she might mention that if Regina was going to let Henry wander around on his own, she would have to put up with the company he kept. If Regina didn't like it, well, she could start walking Henry to the bus herself. Maybe it was just all those years with people who didn't care, but Emma wasn't going to let Henry walk down the street all by himself if she could help it—no matter how safe the town seemed, everyone deserved to know that someone cared.

Henry appraised her, squinting up with a look that could only be approval. "You're brave. We'll need that for Operation Cobra. Speaking of—do you think we need code names?"

"Isn't 'Cobra' our code name?"

"That's the mission." Henry shook his head, like he couldn't believe he had to explain this to a grown adult. "I mean us. I need something to call you."

Something to _call_ her? A crease appeared between Emma's brows as she tried to decipher what Henry was asking and then it hit her. He was asking for something to call _her_.

"Oh," Emma spluttered, trying to ignore the look in his eye. She could see the hope there, she knew what he wanted her to say, but she couldn't give him that. That was a promise she couldn't keep. She couldn't—she couldn't be his mom. Henry already _had_ a mom. Albeit, a sketchy mom in some regards, but one who seemed to love him when she wasn't busy trying to intimidate Emma. "Um, well, why don't you just call me Emma for now?"

Emma braced for the disappointment, but Henry only shrugged.

"Okay. Well then, I'll see you later, Emma." Hitching his backpack a little higher on his shoulders, Henry bounced up the bus steps behind the other kids.

The doors hissed closed as Emma wrestled with the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach, questioning—not for the first time—if she really was doing the right thing. Was staying here, in Storybrooke, and getting his hopes up when she planned to leave the moment she appeased the nagging doubts in her head any better than what Killian had done to her?

A siren jolted Emma out of her thoughts and Graham's squad car pulled around the corner Henry's bus had just occupied, blocking her view of the large yellow vehicle. She welcomed the distraction.

"What's with the siren?"

"It's so hard to get your attention," Graham said, popping up on the other side of the car. He slammed the door shut behind him and walked around with easy, languid steps that Emma definitely noticed.

"Well, you got it," Emma said. "Are you arresting me again?"

Graham squinted down at her, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. "I'm thanking you. For your help finding that coma patient. We all owe you a debt of gratitude."

Emma crossed her arms, taking a step closer. "Well, what do I get? A commendation? Key to the city?"

"How about a job?"

Internally, Emma gasped, though she was far too good at what she did to show her shock on the outside. She waited for Graham to chuckle and say he was pulling her leg or add some ridiculous stipulation that revealed he wasn't talking about the job he sounded like he was talking about.

"I could use a deputy," he said, completely serious.

Emma still wasn't convinced the offer wasn't an elaborate way to get in her pants. In her experience, there were guys willing to go impressive lengths to that end—she should know, Henry was proof of that.

"Thank you, but I have a job."

Graham scoffed. "As a bail bondsperson?"

He took a quick look up and down the street, his gaze pulling Emma's with it as it swept over the brightly colored awnings with their old-fashioned lettering. She and Graham were the most suspicious thing on the block, everyone else walking to whatever business they had with their heads down, hands in their pockets.

Graham turned back to her, lips pressing together for just a minute. "There's not much of that going on here."

Emma propped her hands on her hips, the soft fuzz of her sweater more comforting than her only current shirt should be. "I don't see a lot of sheriffing going on around here, either."

"Well, here's your chance to see it up close. There's dental?" he said with a grimace that told her he thought it a paltry offering.

Emma didn't think she'd ever worked a job with any kind of health benefits. Not that she that kind of thing tempted her, but she'd been in far worse straights.

Graham sighed, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

"Why don't you think about it?" He flipped the plain, brown billfold open, giving her a quick glimpse of cards and bills neatly arranged before he pulled out a plain business card. He held the little rectangle out to Emma. "And stay a while."

"I'll—" Emma took the card, glancing down at the white rectangle and back up at Graham's pleading, blue eyes. Seriously, he was as bad as Henry. She tucked the business card in her back pocket. "I'll think about it."

Graham nodded. "That's all I can ask."

Emma watched the way he slid back into the squad car before driving off, the crunching of the tires fading down the street as he headed…wherever he was going. Her fingers slipped into her pocket again, toying with the edge of the business card. She should get rid of the thing now. She had no reason to keep it. She had no intention of staying.

She left it and headed back down to Granny's.

Ruby greeted Emma when she came through the door, holding out a copy of the _Mirror_. "Your usual?"

Emma blinked and almost checked behind her to see if Ruby spoke to someone else, but no, it was definitely her.

"Uh, yeah," she said, kind of weirded out by the fact that she had a "usual". That she came here often enough over the last two weeks—had she really been in Storybrooke that long—that someone not only recognized her, but knew her order.

"Anything else, today?" Ruby asked, eyes scanning the street behind Emma.

"No," Emma said. "Just the hot chocolate with..."

"Cinnamon, yep, I know." Pouting a little, Ruby spun on her heel and went to prepare Emma's drink as she grabbed a table by the window.

She was halfway through the front page article—really, they had no real news there, just some oddball local stuff—when Ruby clomped back over and set Emma's cocoa down in front of her. Emma snagged a dollop of whipped cream, the homey spice of the cinnamon mingling with the vanilla smoothness of the cream on her tongue. The bell jingled, but she didn't pay much mind until a shadow loomed over her.

"How was your walk with Henry?" Regina asked, pulling out the chair across from Emma. She sank into it, every bit the queen Henry thought she was and answered Emma's look of shock with a tight smile. "That's right—I know everything. But relax. I don't mind."

"You don't?" Emma said, finding that much harder to believe than the idea that Regina was stalking her.

Regina leaned forward, resting her arm on the table like she owned the entire joint. "No," Regina said, her voice cool and clipped, "because you no longer worry me, Miss Swan. You see, I did a little digging into who you are. And what I found out was quite soothing. It all comes down to the number seven."

"Seven?"

"It's the number of addresses you've had in the last decade." Regina's bland smile morphed into something smugger, darker. "Your longest anywhere was two years. Really, what did you enjoy so much about New York?"

Emma looked down, fiddling with the paper in front of her. "If you were wondering, I did find a place here in town."

"I know. With Miss Blanchard."

Emma met Regina's eyes, the change in topic stilling her nerves. She didn't like talking about New York and it was none of Regina's business anyways. It had nothing to do with Regina or Henry. Anger simmered in Emma's gut at the way Regina looked at her as she kept speaking. Like the woman knew everything about her. Regina looked at her like a rich kid looking at someone else's broken toy.

"How long is your lease?" Regina asked. "Oh, wait. You don't have one." The words hung in the air for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she watched Emma's reaction. She tapped her nails on the table, each tap like a gunshot in Emma's ears. "You see my point? In order for something to grow, Miss Swan, it needs roots. And you? Don't have any. People don't change. They only fool themselves into believing they can."

"You don't know me…"

Regina cut her off. "No, I think I do." Regina stood, leaning over the table, her eyes still drilling into Emma, her smile still smug, but pleasant. "All I ask, is as you carry on your transient life, you think of Henry and what's best for him. Perhaps consider a clean break. It's going to happen anyway. Enjoy your cocoa."

Regina left, but her words didn't. They stayed, circling in Emma's brain and dragging her right back to the questions she asked herself at Henry's bus stop. Regina was right, running was all Emma knew. Staying meant changing.

What was she doing here?

She shook her head. She needed to get up, get doing…something, get out of her head. Emma stood. And swiped the cup of hot cocoa all down the front of her sweater, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate wafting up at her. She grabbed for the mug, colliding with the blinds beside her as she caught it.

She groaned. "Really?"

Ruby clacked over in those impossibly high heels, a rag held out toward Emma as she grimaced in sympathy. "Eesh."

Emma looked down at her sweater. A rag wasn't going to cut it. "Do you have a laundry room I can use?"

"Mmhmm," Ruby nodded, her bright red lips spreading in a friendly smile.

###

The laundry room was around the back, attached to the bed and breakfast. Here there was no homey décor, just old wooden boards, plain cabinets, and two serviceable, old washer and drier set ups. Emma threw open the lid of a washing machine and stripped, dumping her sweater and tank top in the washer as she slammed through the cabinets with one hand looking for detergent. She found some and still not satisfied with the amount of things she'd slammed, she closed the lid with a bang.

"Oh, no. No, no, no!"

Emma spun, surprised by the timorous voice. When she entered the laundry room, she had missed the blonde by the other washer and dryer. The girl wore an apron and a faded blue shirt that screamed cleaning lady. She pulled a pink sheet out of the dryer, releasing a wave of mountain mist or some similarly misleading dryer sheet smell.

Emma reached for one of the shirts hanging over the second dryer, keeping an eye the girl. "You okay?"

She chuckled wryly, holding the rosy fabric out to Emma. "The sheets. They're uh… They're pink."

"You try bleach?" Emma bit out. Pink sheets were a problem easily fixed after all and a ridiculous thing to cry over. When she glanced over again, the girl had dropped the sheet on top of the dryer, revealing a hugely pregnant belly. "Oh."

Emma felt a little bit bad. She remembered being that pregnant, short on sleep, with an even shorter fuse. Tears as likely as rage whenever she got upset or angry.

"Last night," the girl said, absentmindedly rubbing her belly, "I felt contractions and the doctor said that the baby could come any day now." Her shoulders bowed in exhaustion.

"Well, that's great," Emma said, busying herself with flipping up her sleeves as she turned back to the washer. The dial clicked as Emma set it.

The girl kept talking. "It's just that, um, when the…" Her soft voice cut off. The girl took a breath. "When the baby comes, no one thinks that I can do this. No one thinks I can do anything. Maybe they're right."

Emma slammed her hand over the dial, starting the wash cycle. "Screw 'em," she said, facing the girl again.

"What?" the girl asked. She'd picked the sheet back up when Emma turned away and now wrestled with it, trying to find an edge to start folding.

Emma didn't offer to help. She didn't have the time or patience for sympathy right now. What she did have was experience and a good dose of tough love. Despite the defeated tone of the girl's voice, she pressed on, her voice harsh and clipped.

"Screw them. How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"I was eighteen."

The girl froze, wide eyes glued to Emma's face. "When… When you had a kid?"

"Yeah," Emma said. "I know what it's like. Everyone loves to tell you what you can and can't do, especially with a kid. But ultimately, whatever you're considering doing or giving up, the choice is yours."

The girl looked down, shaking her head. "It's not exactly what you might think it is."

"It never is," Emma said, knowing that whatever this girl's situation, it was already ten times better than hers had been. She didn't want to talk about jail. Nothing about her pregnancy or Henry's birth could help this girl. What Emma learned as a result of all that could though. "People are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You just got to punch back and say, 'No, this is who I am.'" Emma swallowed, wishing she'd been able to find those words earlier. Punching Regina in the face seemed like a really good idea right about now. "You want people to look at you differently? Make them. If you want to change things, you're going to have to go out there and change them yourself, because there are no fairy godmothers in this world."

The girl watched her for an awkward moment. Stared, really, as Emma finished buttoning the blue shirt up. She didn't say another word and neither did Emma. She had bigger things to deal with than a hormonal teenage girl and she definitely didn't want to deal with the emotions the conversation with this girl stirred up—emotions already roiling after Emma's little talk with Regina.

Fighting the urge to return to the apartment and call it a day, Emma headed back to the diner, wondering whether she could talk Ruby into a free refill of her hot chocolate and also if she could talk Ruby into doctoring it with something a little stronger.

# # #

Emma did get her second cup of cocoa and spent the rest of the wash cycle reading the paper and brooding—more of the latter happened than the former. By the time the moving company delivered her stuff that afternoon, she was so mentally exhausted that she let it sit in the boxes, promising to unpack the next day. She fell asleep in the borrowed shirt, telling herself that she would return it after she unpacked a few things.

Emma's mood wasn't improved by the next morning and it looked like another dark day as she threw on a pair of jeans and headed downstairs to sort through the boxes in the living room. Honestly, Emma hated unpacking, it felt too permanent and she wasn't interested in permanent, but she did need more than a jacket, a pair of jeans, her boots, and two—now three—shirts. She dove into a box labeled clothes first, pulling out a chiffon shirt and a blue leather jacket that had always been one of her favorites. Something about the slightly tacky way her fingers clung to the familiar garment shifted Emma's mood. She felt less unsure about what she was doing. Less like the wandering waif Regina accused her of being. She had roots, she thought as she pulled out her laptop, even if they were shallow ones.

"I'm so glad my stuff is here." She set her laptop to the side and moved to another box—the packing company had been nearly as unorganized packing as Emma would have been.

A shadow fell over her and Emma found Mary Margaret hovering with a plate in each hand. While Emma unpacked, Mary Margaret had been clanking around the kitchen with pots and pans, apparently making breakfast. A cloud of fresh toast smell surrounded them, causing Emma's stomach to grumble. Mary Margaret offered a plate with toast, a heap of eggs, and what looked like hash browns with bacon.

"Oh, thanks." Emma took the plate, setting it down next to her as she flipped open a new box. On top of everything in this one sat a small, brown cigar box, barely bigger than a book and hardly thicker. The most important thing. Emma pulled it out, not needing to check to see that everything was there, the weight was just right.

"So, that's all your stuff?" Mary Margaret asked, her eyes jumping between the boxes.

"What do you mean?" Emma brushed her fingers over the box, the edges of the paper tickling her palm. Dust stuck to her hand as she left her own marks next to those of whoever packed for her.

Mary Margaret gestured. "Is the rest in storage?"

"No, this is all of it," Emma replied, holding the box against her stomach. She stared down at the meager contents in the bigger box. She guessed three boxes and a suitcase were rather light when you picked your whole life up and moved to another city. Guessed, because Emma had no real way of knowing. She'd never had much to move, but at least now she was in charge and her things didn't smell like plastic garbage bag. "I'm not sentimental."

"Well, it must make things easier when you have to move," Mary Margaret said, finding the silver lining as always. Emma might have appreciated it, if yesterday's feelings weren't threatening to overtake her again.

Before she could get too far into thoughts that maybe her stuff being here didn't mean as much as she thought—if she could pick up and move from a completely new city, what was to stop her from doing it again—someone knocked at the door.

Mary Margaret's head jerked up, surprise coloring her face. She put down her plate, wiping her hands off on her pants as she went to the door and opened it, blocking Emma's view of whoever was on the other side of the door.

"Miss Blanchard."

The voice was gentle on the ears, cultured, with a hint of an accent. Emma couldn't quite place it, but she knew whoever this man was, he'd spoken to her before. Emma tensed, noting Mary Margaret's intake of breath and the way her shoulders stiffened.

"Is Miss Swan here?"

Rolling to her feet at the sound of her name, Emma approached the door. Mary Margaret let go of the wood and it swung into Emma's outstretched hand. In the doorway stood the man with the hooked nose. He wore crisp suit, as he had the night Emma checked into Granny's, though it didn't look like he had shaved yet. His manicured, fine-boned hands both rested atop a cane. He smiled as he held one of those hands out to Emma.

"Hi, my name's Mr. Gold," he said, giving Emma's hand a business like shake. "We met briefly on your arrival."

"I remember."

"Good. I have a proposition for you, Miss Swan," Gold said, rocking back on his heels. "I, uh… I need your help. I'm looking for someone.:

"Really? Um…" Emma paused, her eyes cutting to Mary Margaret, who stood with her mouth slightly agape before she finally noticed both Gold and Emma looking at her.

She inhaled quickly. "You know what?" Mary Margaret paused, looking from Emma to Gold. "I'm going to go jump in the bath."

Emma bit back a smile. A bath. Really? Not exactly the most subtle, or logical, way to exit. Mary Margaret brushed past her and headed for the bathroom.

"I have a photo," Gold said. He produced said photo, folded white side out and handed it to Emma as he entered the apartment. "Her name is Ashley Boyd. And she's taken something quite valuable of mine."

Emma stared at the picture in her hand. The photo was grainy and from a bad angle, from a security camera if Emma had to guess, but she recognized the girl. It was the same blonde that Emma encountered yesterday in Granny's laundry room.

"So, why don't you just go to the police?"

"Because, uh…" Gold made a helpless gesture. "She's a confused young woman. She's pregnant. Alone and scared." He pointed to the photo still in Emma's hand. "I don't want to ruin this young girl's life. But I want my property returned."

"What is it?"

Gold glanced at the door Mary Margaret had disappeared behind. The sound of running water echoed through the frosted glass window. "Well, one of the advantages of you not being the police is discretion. Let's just say it's a precious object and leave it at that."

Emma tapped the photo as she turned his words over in her head. Gold was hiding something, that much was obvious. Just how important that something was Emma had yet to determine. Important enough for him to seek her out, clearly, but whether or not it would help her find Ashley, Emma couldn't tell. And she was going to help find Ashley, she knew that the minute she saw the face in the photo.

Emma decided not to push him. One way or another she would find out when she found Ashley. "When'd you see her last?"

"Last night," he replied. He tilted his head, brushing back grey-brown bangs to reveal a bloody welt on the side of his head. "That's how I got this." Gold wouldn't quite meet Emma's eyes as he continued. "It's so unlike her. She was quite wound up. Rambling on and on about changing her life. I have no idea what got into her."

Emma glanced back down at the photo. She knew what had gotten into Ashley. A part of her wanted to be angry at Ashley for taking her words the way she'd taken them, but another part of Emma remembered the questionable choices she made when she was scared and pregnant. Choices that led to one of the toughest periods of her life—which was saying something. If Emma's words were what spurred Ashley to do this, then Emma owed it to her to try and stop her. After all, if Emma had showed a little more patience yesterday, a little more sympathy, she might have helped Ashley find a smarter choice.

"Miss Swan, please help me find her," Gold said, earnest concern lacing every word. "My only other choice is the police, and I don't think anyone wants to see that baby born in jail now, do they?"

Emma blinked, startled by how close his words came to her own thoughts. If she didn't know better, she might think Gold knew some of her history.

She shook that impossible though out of her head. "No, of course not."

"So, you'll help me, then?"

"I will help her."

Gold's shoulders sagged, relief written on his face. "Grand."

Behind Emma, the latch clicked and Henry's bright voice slipped into the room as the door swung open again. "Hey, Emma, I was thinking we—" Henry's voice cut off when his eyes lighted on Gold, the word not even finished as he froze, his jaw slightly slack.

"Hey, Henry." Gold's voice jumped in pitch. His attempt at friendliness sounding awkward, but also slightly fond. "How are you?"

Henry's eyes darted around the room before a wide, tight smile settled on his face. "O…kay?" he replied, sounding like the proverbial kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

Did his mom know he was here?

"Good," Gold said, unphased by Henry's hesitation. "Give my regards to your mother. And, um, good luck, Miss Swan."

By the time Gold reached over Henry's head, his hand catching the door and closing it behind him, Emma had already turned back to her boxes. She was not an over-sized button down kind of girl.

It was high time she wore her own clothes again.

Henry clomped after Emma, his shoes sounding slightly big. "Do you know who that is?" He kept his voice low, like he expected Gold to hover outside the door listening.

"Yeah, course I do," Emma said without thinking. She grabbed pair of boots and a shirt from her meager pile of unpacked things.

"Who?" He sounded a little incredulous, like a teacher who didn't expect you to know the answer. "Cause I'm still trying to figure it out."

Emma snatched up the blue jacket. "Oh. I meant in reality."

His face fell and Emma kicked herself for carelessly bungling this all over again, but Henry had moved onto another subject. "Is that all you brought?"

"Henry, what are you doing here?" Emma asked, remorse gone again. Why did everyone seem to have an opinion on how much stuff she should own? She had what she needed to do her job. Maybe it wasn't a lot, but it was more than she needed to get by. And just the right amount to throw in the back of her bug whenever she felt the need to hightail it. Leaving in the middle of the night took far more planning when you had to rent a U-Haul.

"My mom's gone till five." Henry shrugged, like it was no big deal. "I thought we could hang out."

"Ah, kid. I wish I could," Emma said, feeling awful. Here he was, seeking her out again, looking for someone to care. Emma wished he wouldn't. He put too much faith in her. Regina was right, she didn't have any roots, she had nothing to keep her from disappearing. Nothing except this mess and the picture of a scared girl in her hand. "But there's something I gotta do."

"Okay," Henry said as Emma rushed upstairs to change.

She assumed he'd left, thought she missed the sound of the door opening and closing, but she found him waiting on the couch when she tromped back down the stairs in new clothes. He jumped to his feet.

"I thought you were going home," Emma said.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding someone for Mr. Gold."

"Who?"

"One of the maids at Granny's," Emma said, handing him the photo. She hoped it would slake his curiosity so she could send him home and go do her job. "Her name is Ashley and she's in trouble. I need to find her before she gets into more trouble. I'm sorry, I really am, but things could end up really bad if I don't. I need you to go home."

Keys jingling in her hand, Emma opened the door and ushered Henry out ahead of her. She felt bad as she plucked the photo from his fingers, even told herself that if she wrapped this up quickly enough, maybe there would still be time for them to hang out. She knew she was doing the same thing Regina probably did and it killed her, but she didn't want to have him to worry about while she tracked Ashley down.

Henry, however, had other plans. He refused to leave Emma's side as she headed down the street to where her bug was parked. "Please let me help."

"No!" Emma shot back. She mentally kicked herself for sounding too harsh and tried again, "No, it could be dangerous."

Henry scoffed, jogging a little to keep up with Emma. "The pregnant maid is dangerous?"

"She assaulted Mr. Gold."

"Cool."

"This isn't a game. She's desperate."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know," Emma said, fingers closing around the cool metal of her car's door handle. For a moment, as Henry walked past, she entertained the hope that she finally convinced him.

But he stopped at the car, fingers curling around the blinker. "Well, then let's find her."

"Oh, no, no, no, no." Emma was halfway around the car, the distance between her and Henry shrinking to a few feet before she even realized what she was doing. She stopped, a little pleased at the tone of her voice, which sounded appropriately authoritative and parental. "There is no 'Let's'. You cannot come with me."

Henry's tilted his chin up defiantly. "Then I'll look for her myself."

"Then I'll find you and I'll bring you back," Emma threatened, daring him to one up her.

He did better. "Then you wouldn't be helping the maid."

"I am just trying to be responsible, here," Emma said and just like that, she was pleading, like she was the one asking for permission and not the other way around.

"And I'm just trying to spend time with you." He didn't smirk. Didn't rub it in. Just opened the car door like he knew he'd won. Which he had. How the heck had Regina not lost her mind dealing with this kid? He knew all of the shots to call, walked her right into that one like she was a pirate following a treasure map…straight into a trap at the end.

"Oh, that is really not fair," Emma grumbled, but she got in the car. She really couldn't say no to that face or the sincerity in his voice.

He waited, twisted around in his seat, not even giving Emma enough time to get the keys in the ignition before he asked, "So, the maid. What's her story?"

"That's what we're going to find out, kid."

A tow truck hauling a red, 1970s sports car blocked the street in front of _Granny's_ , forcing Emma to park a little further down. The diner appeared to be doing good business this morning, the pleasant weather drawing patrons to the outdoor patio. Ruby stomped around in heels as high as her shorts were short, her white uniform shirt tied at her waist like she was in a Brittney Spears' music video. Taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather, Emma supposed.

Henry saw her and waved. "Ruby's friends with Ashley. I bet she'll know something."

Emma snagged him by the back of his collar as he hurried forward, practically skipping.

"Hold up, kid," she said, "I agreed to let you come with me." Well, not really agreed. He emotionally strong-armed her into letting him come along. But what was she supposed to do? Drag him out of the car and lock him in the closet? She'd known kids that were in foster care because their parents pulled stunts like that. "But if you want to stay with me, we play by my rules, okay? And rule number one is let me do the talking. Got it?"

Henry nodded. He bit his lip, excitement practically oozing from him.

"Alright, let's go see what Ruby knows."

"Hi, Emma," Ruby greeted. She held a tray aloft like it weighed less than a feather, plucking two coffee mugs from it and setting them down before an elderly couple. The tray didn't even wobble. "Hi, Henry. Grab a seat, I'll be with you in a sec."

"Actually," Emma said. "We're not here for breakfast. Henry says you're friends with Ashley Boyd?"

Ruby froze. "Yes," she said carefully. She looked Emma up and down before setting the tray on a table. "Is something wrong?"

"She's missing," Emma said. The photo crinkled as Emma pulled it out of her pocket. "She broke into Mr. Gold's shop last night and stole something. I'm trying to find her before the police get involved. Have you seen her?"

"Not today."

"Do you know of anyone that might be hiding her?"

"Nope." Ruby popped the word with tight-lipped finality. She hoisted the two plates remaining on the dtray, a look of grim determination on her face. If Emma wanted information out of Ruby, she was going to have to surprise it out of her.

Emma decided on a slight gamble. "So, this boyfriend of hers. You don't think he was involved in her disappearance?" An old interrogation tactic Emma learned in her first days as a bail bondsperson. Make an assumption and let them correct you.

Ruby plonked the plates down in front of another couple, whirling to face Emma, temper as red as the streaks in her hair.

"That would mean he was involved with her at all," she said, stalking back over to Emma and Henry. "Which he isn't. He left her in the lurch right after they found out they were expecting." Ruby propped her hand on her hip, staring Emma down like she was the boyfriend in question. Ruby's words stired up similar feelings inside Emma. "Hasn't spoken to her since. Like I said—"

Ruby's eyes widened, her attention shifting abruptly to something behind Emma. A loud click sounded, followed by a rattling crash. Ruby leapt forward, cutting right between Emma and Henry. She ran well for someone in high heels.

"Hey!" she yelled. "Hey! Hey! Billy, be careful! You almost shattered my wolf thing, Billy." Ruby switched from yelling to flirting so quickly it almost gave Emma whiplash. The pout evident in her voice, she propped a hand on her hip again and gave a disappointed little shrug. "It's good luck."

The guy in question, Billy, whipped around to check the crystal wolf swinging from Ruby's rear view -mirror. His honest looking face—the kind of face you didn't often see on a mechanic actually—turned to Ruby, a little bit of fear mirrored in his eyes. He took a look at Ruby and then another look back at the car, his shoulders sagging in relief as the little crystal wolf swung back and forth, catching the sun.

"I'm sorry, Ruby," he said, jerking his hand in the direction of the shiny bauble. "But look—it's fine."

Ruby gave him a smirk, fingers plucking idly at her hair.

Before she could get side-tracked, Emma stepped up next to her. "Um, Ruby. What about her family?"

The flirty face dropped, concern taking its place. "Oh, um, she's got a stepmom and two stepsisters that she doesn't talk to."

"Wait. Stepmom, stepsisters, _and_ she's a maid?" Henry spoke in a high excited voice. Really, his keeping quiet this long was a miracle in Emma's book. Still, she shot him a look.

"Henry. Not now."

Henry rolled his eyes, but fell silent.

"Look," Ruby said. "I don't know what you've heard, but it's wrong." Ruby crossed her arms, like her words gave her a chill. Or maybe it was just the cool breeze blowing through the patio. "Everyone thinks she's not ready to have this kid, but she's trying. Taking night classes, trying to better herself. Trying to get her life together. Can you understand that?"

She did understand that, more than Ruby could ever know. What would have happened if she'd had one person, one friend who believed in her as much as Ruby believed in Ashley? Maybe if Emma hadn't felt completely alone she would have had the courage to keep Henry. But no one had suggested night classes or looked at her with the least bit of friendliness while she was in jail—and though there had been times when she wasn't completely alone, those times were exactly the reason she'd ended up pregnant and in jail. They were the reason she was alone now.

But Emma also made her living off of putting herself in other people's shoes and Ashley's shoes fit a little too easily.

"I think so."

"Then maybe you should just stay out of it. She's been through enough already."

"I've been through it too, Ruby," Emma said, she wasn't backing down on this, "and I can help her."

Ruby sighed. "Then, try her ex."

"Where can I find him?"

# # #

The minute Ruby uttered the words, "He lives with his dad", Emma's picture of Sean Herman completed itself. Self-absorbed, upper middle class kid who thought it was fun to slum it with the less fortunate Ashley until things got tight. Once the fun disappeared, so did he. Pulling up in front of the two story, beige house—practically mansion—with its manicured lawn and fountain in the front didn't do anything to improve Emma's opinion of him. This guy literally had no excuse.

Henry took one look at her face and said, "You're gonna tell me to stay in the car aren't you?"

"Yep," Emma said. "You can watch from here and I will give you the play by play later, but I have no idea what this guy's like, so you're staying in the car."

"What'll you do if I say no?"

"I have a roll of duct tape in the back," Emma said, fixing a stare on Henry.

"Really?" he asked, like he'd been waiting his whole life for someone to threaten to tie him up with duct tape. A moment later he laughed. "Your face. Don't worry, I'll stay in the car. Just don't let anything cool happen without me, okay?"

"Okay."

Emma stalked up the empty driveway, her boots making nice, solid thumps as she climbed the steps to the porch. The door looked expensive, made of a bright, red wood that sent sunlight glaring into Emma's eyes as she knocked on the door. Inside, she heard the echo of her raps, followed by the rapid clatter of feet on stairs.

The door swung open, revealing a blond youth a little taller than Emma. He looked like a high school jock to her. Not the big, brawny, football kind. The kind of jock that played some ridiculous sport, like lacrosse. It fit Emma's idea of him to a 't'. He saw Emma and took a step back, like he expected someone else.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Sean Herman?"

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"I'm Emma Swan," she said, focusing on Sean despite the sound of tires easing into the drive way. "I'm… I'm looking for Ashley Boyd." Emma noted his slight inhale at Ashley's name. Repressed feelings, perhaps? Or was he hiding something. "She's in trouble. Just thought maybe she came to see you."

Sean started to say something, but snapped his mouth shut, eyes hitting the ground a moment before the voice came from behind Emma.

"My son doesn't have anything to do with that girl anymore," it said. A man sporting an older version of Sean's face approached Emma, wearing an unfortunate tie and sweater combo. Seriously, who wore a cardigan with that tie and that shirt? And what was this guy's thing with beige? "So, whatever trouble she's in, I am sorry for her, but there's nothing we can do to help you."

Sean's jaw clenched.

"You're the reason he broke up with her."

"Absolutely," Sean's dad said. "I'm not going to let my son throw away his entire life over a mistake."

"So you just told him to leave her?" Emma knew first hand that people were messed up. After all, what kind of parents left their newborn on the side of the road? What kind of person told you they loved you and left the next day? But this…this was a little too twisted for even her to take in. A father that would tell—maybe even force—his son to shirk responsibility because it was inconvenient? Yeah, that was a new low for the human race. Only the fact that she couldn't help Ashley while being held for assault kept her from decking the guy right then and there.

"Well, what are they going to do? Raise the child in the backseat of a car?"

"Some people only have the backseat of a car," Emma shot back, the sting of that comment injecting a little extra venom in her words.

"Well, they're to be pitied," he said, brushing past Sean. "I'm not letting that happen to my son."

Sean, who'd let them talk over him while looking like he wanted to be anywhere else, chose that moment to finally grow a half pair of balls. "Dad, maybe we should help her look."

"It's a waste, Sean," his dad said, flicking through the pile of mail in his hand.

Sean clenched his jaw again, meeting and holding Emma's gaze. For the first time, Emma started to think there might be more to Sean Herman than she'd given him credit for. Maybe there was a decent guy in there. Somewhere.

Emma stepped closer, glad that Sean still didn't look away. "Sean," she began, voice soft. "If you want to come, come. Stop letting other people make decisions for you. If Ashley runs away with this baby, she's going to be in some serious trouble."

Sean's eyes widened. "She's running away with the baby?"

"Yes."

She saw it then, the barest flicker of courage. She almost had him.

"Sean."

The sound of his father's voice shut all of that down. He wasn't a bad kid, but he was still a kid. A kid with a less than stellar dad.

"Inside. Now," his dad said.

Casting an apologetic glance at Emma, Sean stuck his hands in his pockets and headed inside, shoulders bowed. Emma tried not to be too mad at him. Right now, she needed to find Ashley, she didn't have time to yell at him or rip his dad a new one. And really she couldn't blame him for not wanting to argue with the tone in his father's voice. She'd had foster parents like that. With steel voices and iron laws, they had no soft parts and bending always seemed better than bashing yourself against such an immovable object.

"Look," Herman said, his voice full of self-righteous sincerity. He thought he was doing the best for his son, the rest of the world be damned. Except he was damning his son along with the rest of the world. "Believe me, if I knew where she was, I would tell you. I went to a lot of trouble to get her that deal."

"Deal? What are you talking about?"

Sean's father gave her a patronizing look—just when she thought his face couldn't get any uglier.

"You don't know?" he asked with a familiar _You Poor Child_ tone. "Ashley agreed to give up the child. And she's being paid very well to do so."

 _Paid_. The word hit Emma like a sledgehammer, scattering all of her thoughts.

"She sold the baby?"

The man scoffed. "Oh, you make it sound so crass. I found someone who's going to find that child a good and proper home."

"And who are you to judge whether Ashley is capable of providing that?" Emma demanded.

"Look at her. She's a teenager," he said. "She's never shown any evidence of being responsible. How could she possibly know how to be a mother?"

He wore a different face. He spoke with a different voice. And he might as well have been Emma's counselor from prison. _You're too young to be a mother, Emma._ _What are you going to do when you get out of prison? You don't have a job. You don't have a place to stay. You are all alone. They'll never let you keep him. He'll just end up in foster care anyways._

But Ashley had a job. She wanted her kid. She wanted a better life.

"Maybe she's changing her life," Emma said, unsure whether she meant Ashley…or herself.

"Everybody says that," he said dismissively. "Now, look." He leaned toward Emma, Steel Dad voice back. "I found someone who's going to pay Ashley extremely well. Someone who is going to see to it that everybody's happy."

All the pieces clicked. "Mr. Gold."

Sean's dad looked at her like she as a moron. "Well, isn't that why you were hired? To bring him the baby?"

Emma glared at him. She was done here. "He failed to mention that. Thanks for the information." She spun on her heel, leaving the elder Herman in her wake before she did something really stupid. Like throttle him. The man really needed a personality transplant. If Archie really had been Jiminy Cricket, Emma knew who she'd be sending him to.

Maybe she should have suggested Herman pay a visit to the therapist anyways.

Henry sat back quickly as she returned to the car, yanking his seatbelt across his body. The latch clicked into place as Emma slid into the car.

She eyed the open window. "How much did you hear?"

"Most of it," Henry said. "He was kind of loud."

"Yeah," Emma said. "And rude."

"Who bought the baby?" he asked.

Emma started the car, peeling away from the curb, glad everything was so close. She had a few words for Ruby.

"Gold," Emma bit out.

" _Mr._ Gold?"

"Is there more than one?"

Henry gaped at her, taking a few minutes to find his voice. He squirmed around to face her—should she yell at him to sit forward, she'd heard somewhere that you were supposed to face forward in a car to avoid injury if there was an accident. For that matter, was he old enough to be riding in the front seat? She definitely remembered hearing something about that. Emma felt her anger abate a little as her brain start to find a million ways that she was messing up right at this very moment.

Thankfully, Henry brought her right back to the problem at hand.

"You can't make her double cross Gold," he said, desperation making his voice rise. "No one's ever broken a deal with him."

"I'm happy to be the first," she said, remembering how angry she was. History was not going to repeat itself. Not on her watch. "If Ashley wants to have this baby, she should have it. Anyone who wants to be a mother, should damn well be allowed to be one."

Henry wisely did not say anything as they pulled into the space occupied by the tow truck maybe an hour ago. The car door made a satisfying thwack as she got out, feet hitting the pavement hard. Henry had to jog to keep up with her. The jingling bell as she wrenched the door open drew all eyes to her, but she only saw one person. Ruby. She made a beeline for the counter.

"Why didn't you tell me she sold the baby?" Emma asked.

Ruby shrugged. "Because I didn't think it was important."

Emma chased her down the length of the counter.

"Really?" Emma didn't even try to hide the ire in her voice. Gold she could understand lying to her, anyone who would buy a child had to be a shifty bastard, but Ruby should have known better. "Considering that's why she's running away."

Ruby glared at Emma. "Look, Ashley's my friend. I don't like the idea of people judging her." The rag Ruby held landed on the counter with a soft plop as she grabbed two plates. Emma barely noticed what was on them. All she saw was the little, red crystal wolf that Ruby had been so concerned about earlier.

She whipped around, staring at the spot behind her car. The very empty spot.

"Ruby, where's your car?" she practically shouted. Emma sighed, putting the wolf down and pulling herself back in. Of course, she'd been stupid to think Ruby would give up information so easily this morning. "You didn't send me to Sean to find her. You sent me there to give her a head start."

Ruby retreated behind the counter again, rag in her hand. "Look, I'm only trying to help her."

"Yes, so am I," Emma said. The counter dug into her stomach as she tried to close the distance between them. Henry pressed up next to her, almost on his tiptoes with excitement. At least one of them was enjoying this. "Ashley's in more trouble than you know, Ruby. Where is she?"

Ruby eyed Emma warily.

"Don't make her deal with Gold without me," Emma pleaded.

A strangled noise came from behind her. Someone else who hated Gold, probably. Good for them. Maybe when this was all over they could start a club.

Ruby stared down at Henry. "I can't talk in front of him. He's the mayor's kid."

"Hey!" Henry said, sounding offended. "I'm on your side."

"Henry, I need to find this woman," Emma said, crouching down to the kid's level. This wasn't a game anymore. This wasn't an adventure. Real people were going to get hurt. "And in order to do that, I need you to go home, okay? So please listen to me. Seriously. She's not going to tell me anything if you're around."

"Okay," Henry said, almost too easily.

Emma squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

Ruby leaned on the counter when Emma turned back to her. "She left town." Ruby wouldn't meet Emma's eyes as she spoke. "Said she was going to try Boston. Thought she could disappear there."

"How long ago did she leave?"

"About a half an hour."

Emma started turning, ready to walk right out the door and speed down the little two-lane highway, but movement in the last booth grabbed her attention and Emma found herself staring into a pair of very familiar blue eyes.

She froze. Didn't breath. Didn't think. Didn't move.

If the way he crouched, half in, half out of the booth was any sign, Killian was just as surprised as she was.

He looked the same.

How did he look the same?

Well, the hoodie was gone. He wore a leather jacket now, a vest, and a dark button-up shirt. His hair was shorter too, swept up away from his forehead in a carefully tousled mess. But the charms around his neck were the same. And he had the same light dusting of scruff around his jaw. And those eyes—those blue, blue eyes were looking right through Emma like they always had.

Like he saw all her secrets.

Emma panicked, falling back on the one thing she knew—the most enduring trick he'd taught her.

Heart jumping to double-time she bolted, the bell jingling loudly as she slammed the door open and raced to her car. She didn't even realize she held her breath until she closed the car door and inhaled, long and deep. Terrified he might be right be right behind her, Emma jammed the key into the ignition and sped away, nearly clipping the green van parked in front of her.

What was he doing here? How had he found her?

Emma gasped, nearly swerving into the other lane as an even more important question hit her. Did he know about Henry?

Henry had been with her in the diner. Killian must have seen him. Could he have put the pieces together from just that? What if that was why he was there? No, it couldn't be. Emma told the hospital she didn't know who his father was. It didn't matter, after all.

Killian had tracked her down. But why? After ten years, why would he have tracked her down and how did he find her in Maine of all places?

"What'd she tell you?" Henry's shaggy brown head appeared in Emma's rearview mirror.

"Henry! What the hell?" Emma asked, jumping so hard she would have left the seat without the seatbelt holding her in place. "I'm—I'm going to Boston." She flicked her blinker on, barely making the turn in time, the moment in the diner had her so flustered. It felt like she was breathing wrong. "You can't come with me."

"You can't go to Boston," Henry said, stretching his words out like someone talking to a particularly stubborn child. "She can't leave. Bad things happen to anyone who does."

Emma glared at his reflection in the mirror. "I don't have time to argue with you over the curse. I've got to get you home."

"We have to stop her before she gets hurt!" he insisted. "We're wasting time! If you drop me off, we'll never catch up to her."

"Henry," Emma warned. She could see the turn for his street a few blocks ahead. Ten minutes. It would just be a ten minute detour. Ten more minutes between her and Ashley.

Henry talked right over her. "And then Mr. Gold will call the police, and he'll have her sent to jail."

Emma sighed. She looked at him again. Her eyes stared out of his face, but he had his dad's dark hair and that was enough to remind her that Killian was in town. She didn't know for how long, but if he'd done any digging around—and if she knew Killian that would be one of the first things he did—it wouldn't take him long to find out that Henry was her kid and if anyone had mentioned Henry's age? Well, Killian was smart enough to do simple math.

She couldn't just leave Henry here, not without knowing why Killian was here and how much he knew.

"Fine," she said as they drove past his street. "Buckle up."

She had a bigger problem to deal with right now. _Ashley, what did you get yourself into?_

# # #

As soon as Emma got out of town, she gunned the engine, pushing seventy and hoping that Ashley was the nervous type that stuck to the speed limit. The road out of town didn't have much on it, just groups of ramshackle houses here and there, so she felt confident Ruby's bright, red car would stand out.

She was right.

As they rounded the bend and as the town line came into sight, they spied the sports car, run up on low concrete bridge spanning a little ditch.

"I told you! It's her car," Henry shouted, he was out the door before Emma shut off the car.

Emma jumped out right behind him, shouting Ashley's name as she joined Henry at the car's open window. The passenger door swung open, the corner digging into the dirt, but there was no Ashley.

A frightened, pained moan came from the bushes.

Ashley sat hunched in the grass just behind the little bridge, arms circling her huge belly.

"My baby," she gasped when she saw Emma. "It's coming."

Emma rushed over, taking Ashley's arm and helping her to her feet. "Come on, get in my car. We'll get you help. Henry, in the back."

Ashley leaned on Emma, doubled over as they shuffled back to the car. She half fell into the passenger seat with a grunt, reaching for the seatbelt with a shaking hand.

"How long have you been having contractions?" Emma asked as she got in on her side and buckled her own seat belt.

"Off and on since last night. They just got really, really bad and I couldn't drive."

Emma threw the car into gear, hoping that Ashley would be the typical first time mother and still have a few hours ahead of her.

Ashley groaned again, bending forward until her head touched the dashboard.

Emma turned the bug around and started timing contractions.

"Is the baby really coming?" Henry asked, his voice overloud and right in Emma's ear.

"Oh yeah," Emma said. She threw a glance at Ashley, softening her voice a little. "Don't worry—the hospital isn't that far."

"No!" Ashley's blue eyes focused on Emma, blown wide with terror. "No, no, no. Take me to Boston. I can't go back there."

"Oh no, we don't have four hours. Trust me. I know."

"I can't go back there. Please." Her plea cracked on the last word, going high and breathy. "He's going to take my baby."

"I won't let that happen," Emma said. "Do you know what you're asking for? If you keep this child, are you really ready?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?" she asked, unimpressed by Ashley's quick answer. Aware of Henry hanging on every word, she hoped he still understood why she'd done what she had. "Because I wasn't."

That confession seemed to shake Ashley a little. "You weren't?"

Emma shook her head. "Nope."

She took in Henry's eyes, flicking back and forth between them in the rearview. The weight of uncertainty, all the questions of the last few days got in the way of her words, but she pushed through anyways. She couldn't decide this for Ashley, but she could make sure Ashley was aware of what this meant.

"If you want to give this kid its best chance, it's going to be with someone who's ready, so know what that means. Your whole life is going to change and once you decide that it's yours, this 'running away' can't happen. You have to grow up." Emma took a deep breath. "And you can't ever leave. Understand?"

That was the kicker. If she decided that Henry wasn't getting his best chance with Regina—she wasn't even going to think about Killian right now—then she had to stay. She couldn't just sweep in, tell him to depend on her, and then sweep out when it got hard. She would have to stay and Emma didn't know how to stay.

But could she learn how?

Could she change?

"Yes," Ashley said, her mouth thinning to a determined line. "I want my baby."

# # #

Twenty minutes and nine contractions later, they arrived at the hospital and the nurses wheeled Ashley away, directing Emma and Henry to the waiting room. They weren't family and she didn't know Ashley that well, so by all rights, she could cut loose. Gone to find Gold and gotten him to take back his deal. Her part would be over.

She could walk away from this.

All of this.

Henry plopped down in one of the vinyl chairs, but Emma couldn't bring herself to sit. If she sat, it meant she was staying, but she couldn't bring herself to leave either. So she paced and she thought.

And she was thinking about more just this situation with Ashley.

She'd been thinking about it for days now. Stay or go. Sure she'd ordered her stuff, but she could just as easily throw it all in the back of the bug and drive away from here. Away from this feud with Regina. Away from whatever it was Killian wanted. Away from Henry and the hold he had on her. He already had more than anyone had gotten in a long time—not even…but that was the past too.

Emma hated dwelling on the past.

Except her past kept tracking her down.

Literally.

"You know, Emma, you're different," Henry said. The green vinyl squeaked as he swung his legs back and forth. He slouched down as far as he could, but his feet still didn't touch the ground.

"What's that?" Emma asked, tightening her grip around her keys.

What right did she have to stay here? She wasn't like Ashley. She hadn't wanted Henry. Hadn't even been happy she to find out she was pregnant. Just scared and lonely and angry at the looming, nine month reminder of how badly things went whenever she trusted people.

"You're the only one who could do it," Henry said.

"Break the curse?" She tried not to sound annoyed, but it had been a long morning and she had more important things to deal with. Ashley needed to hurry up and have this baby so she could go. "Yes, I know. You keep telling me that." Because the pressure of having a kid and suddenly having to deal with your—his dad popping back into your life wasn't enough to deal with already.

See? She still wasn't ready to be a parent. Not nine years ago. Not now. All she did was screw things up. As evidenced by the patient, slightly pained look on Henry's face at her tone.

"No. Leave," Henry said. "You're the only one who can leave Storybrooke."

Emma shrugged. "You left and came and found me in Boston."

"But I came back. I'm nine. I had no choice," he said, voice soft and thoughtful. Maybe it was just the way seeing Killian had rattled, but she thought she recognized that tone. She had heard it late at night while she tried to sleep in the back of the bug. "But if anyone else tried to go, bad things would happen."

"Anyone, except me?"

"You're the savior," Henry said, his eyes tracking Emma as she crouched in front of him. "You can do whatever you want. You can go." He broke her gaze, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he studied his jeans.

His was telling her to go with his words, but the tone of his voice asked her something very different.

She remembered being that kid. The one with the big eyes and the too big heart, watching the couples come and go, wanting desperately to beg: _Pick me. Choose me. Love me._

She remembered being eighteen and watching as the one person she thought she has picked her said that "I love you" and "goodbye" in the same breath.

Running was safe. Running was what she did when things got hard or scary.

But for the first time in what seemed like forever, Emma wanted to stay.

She would not do to Henry what Killian had done to her. She was not going to leave him alone, because fancy house and PTA perfect mom or not, Henry seemed just as lonely as she had been.

A woman in a lab coat approached. Long, dark hair. Deep, brown eyes were set above cheeks made even rounder by her broad smile.

"Miss Swan," the doctor said, coming to a stop right in front of them. "Baby is a healthy six pound girl and the mother is doing fine."

Before Emma could breathe a sigh of relief, a deep voice said, "What lovely news. Excellent work, Miss Swan. Thank you for bringing me my merchandise."

Emma stared as Gold walked right past her to the crappy coffee machine and fished some coins out of his pocket. He hit the machine hard a couple of times when it didn't surrender the beverage right away. His brute force approach worked, because the machine started dispensing coffee as Emma approached Gold.

"Well, well. Must be my lucky day. Care for a cup, Miss Swan?" He offered the meager paper cup to her.

Emma's fingers curled around the edge of the machine, clenching as she fought the urge to slap the smug grin off of his face. "A baby? That's your merchandise? Why didn't you tell me?"

Gold's cane clicked against the tile floor as he moved away from the coffee machine. "Well because, at the time, you didn't need to know."

"Really? Or you thought I wouldn't take the job?"

"On the contrary," Gold said. "I thought it would be more effective if you found out yourself. After seeing Ashley's hard life, I thought it would make sense. I mean, if anyone could understand the reasons behind giving up a baby, I assumed it would be you."

"You're not getting that kid."

"Actually, we have an agreement. My agreements are always honored," Gold said, the muscles around his nose curling up, turning his smile into a sneer. "If not, I'm going to have to involve the police and that baby is going to end up in the system. And that would be a pity. You didn't enjoy your time in the system, did you, Emma?"

"It's not going to happen," Emma said, her voice a low growl.

"I like your confidence." The sneer widened, becoming something cold and not quite human. It sent chills down Emma's spine, but she stood her ground. "Charming. But all I have to do is press charges. She did, after all, break into my shop."

"Let me guess—to steal a contract?"

"Who knows what she was after?"

Emma took a step closer. "You know no jury in the world will put a woman in jail, whose only reason for breaking and entering was to keep her child," she said, her voice tense. "I'm willing to roll the dice that contract doesn't stand up. Are you?" She noted Gold's pause. The way he lowered the paper cup, his lips pressing together. She'd hit a nerve. Good. Time to hit a few more. "Not to mention what might come out about you in the process. Somehow, I suspect, there is more to you than a simple pawnbroker. You really want to start that fight?"

"I like you, Miss Swan," he said, sounding so much like a love-sick school boy that Emma wanted to vomit. "You're not afraid of me, and that's either cocky or presumptuous. Either way, I'd rather have you on my side."

"So, she can keep the baby?"

"Not just yet." He spoke each word in time with the tap of his can as he turned a thoughtful circle. "There's still the matter of my agreement with Miss Boyd."

Well, Emma knew what to do with that. "Tear it up."

"That's not what I do." He shrugged slightly, like the matter was entirely out of his hands. "You see, contracts—deals—well, they're the very foundation of all civilized existence. So, I put it to you now. If you want Ashley to have that baby, are you willing to make a deal with me?"

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I don't know just yet. You'll owe me a favor."

"Deal," Emma said at the same time as another voice said, "Don't—"

Emma's eyes left Gold, already knowing who stood behind him. Her stomach swooped in a nauseating, painful way. Gold cast a careful glance to where Killian stood in his leather jacket and dark jeans, looking like a thirty-something Danny Zuko, (though he had better hair than Travolta).

Dismissively, Gold walked past Killian, dropping his still mostly full cup into the trash can.

Killian barely even acknowledged him. He didn't take his eyes off Emma. "I can explain."

Emma swallowed, breaking the eye contact to give Henry a short command. "Stay here, kid."

She stalked around the corner, feeling like she would fly apart with every step and hoping it wasn't obvious her hands were shaking. Killian followed.

"I must say," he said, fierce pride—and maybe something more—shining in his eyes, "that was quite impressive. Not many people would go toe to toe with that reptile. Though, it's never wise to make a deal with…Gold." He hesitated before he said the man's name, probably trying to recall it, proving he had been in town long enough to do some digging.

"That is my business," Emma said, "and I do not have time to deal with…" She gestured at him. "Whatever this is."

"Emma," he said and a part of her died inside. Killian said her name like he never left. He said her name and it felt like he never left. "I know you're angry. I know you have questions."

"You're damn right, I have questions. Like, why are you stalking me? But I do _not_ have time for you, so…just…go wait at Granny's and I'll deal with you when this is all over. Got it?" She tried to sound hard. She tried to sound in control. All she heard was a scared teenager.

Killian inclined his head, almost like a bow. "Of course."

Emma didn't give him the chance to walk away. She fled around the corner, though her steps were measured and sure, it still felt like fleeing.

Grabbing Henry's arm, she said, "Let's go see Ashley, kid." She gave him a gentle shove in the direction of the maternity ward. It took everything in her not to keep her eyes forward.

By the time they got to the room, Emma's hands had stopped shaking and her thoughts had settled somewhat, enough that she managed a smile as they entered the room. Henry trotted right up to the end of the bed, scooting his butt up next to Ashley's feet like they were the best of friends.

Emma came more slowly. It had been a long time since she'd been in the same room as a newborn. A little over nine years to be exact, and seeing Ashley cradling the little pink-wrapped bundle, her hand caressing the back of her daughter's head did a number to Emma's emotional state. She hadn't gotten that with Henry—had been afraid of what she would do if she allowed herself that.

"Hey," Emma said, swallowing all of those emotions. "What's her name?"

"Alexandra."

She nodded. "It's pretty."

Henry leaned in and curiosity was quickly replaced with a skeptical look. He didn't get it yet, didn't understand the magic that was a brand new life.

Ashley smiled. "Thank you for getting me here."

"Mr. Gold was outside," Emma said, shoving her hands into her pocket. "I took care of it–she's yours."

"She is?" Ashley breathed. "What did you do?"

Emma shrugged. "Made a deal with him."

"Thank you." Ashley's voice cracked. "Thank you." She looked so tired, but the smile that lit up her face was full of joy.

Emma ducked her head. She didn't deserve the thanks. It just—it was the right thing. Trying to find something, anything else, to look at besides the brand new mother and her perfect baby girl, Emma caught sight of the clock.

"Oh, hey, kid. It's almost five. We gotta get you home."

Henry jumped up, racing out the door after a quick confirmation that she told the truth.

With one last nod to Ashley, Emma hurried after him.

They drove in silence for several blocks, the manicured sidewalks and little storybook homes providing little distraction from the words Emma wanted to say. She just wasn't sure how. She wasn't really a words kind of girl, she'd always preferred actions. Actions told you who a person really was. Words could fool you.

Finally, she couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Pumpkin," she blurted out, earning a confused glance from her son. "My code name. I was thinking in honor of Cinderella. Pumpkin."

Henry shook his head, lip curling in a familiar, disdainful look that reminded her of the unpleasant chore waiting for her after she dropped him off. She decided to forget about that for now.

"You got a better one in mind?" she asked.

She expected his eyes to light up and that mischievous grin to creep over his face. She expected him to suggest something corny, like Odette or something. He didn't do any of those things, only stared at her for a minute before answering.

"Yep."

"Well?"

"I'm not sure you're ready yet," he replied, settling back in his seat.

Henry, it seemed, had his father's talent for reading her.

For a minute, just for a minute, Emma let herself think about what it might have been like if someone stuck up for her back then. She didn't dwell on it, but she did wonder what it would feel like to have Henry call her 'Mom'. She wasn't sure if she liked the idea.

"Oh, turn here," Henry said, pointing at the sign with his street name on it.

"I got it, kid."

They pulled up in front of the hedge, lit bright green by the late afternoon sun and Henry hopped out of the car, racing up to the gate. It was 4:57.

"Henry!" she called, stopping him in his tracks just before he disappeared inside the hedge. "About what you said at the hospital. About me being able to leave?"

"Yeah?"

"See you tomorrow," she said.

Henry gave her a toothy grin before speeding the rest of the way to his house.

He was right. She wasn't ready to be 'Mom', but maybe she was ready to put down some roots.

She pulled away from the house, taking the first corner she came across and hoping that Regina hadn't just witnessed the bug pulling away from the curb. She would cut a couple of blocks down and then head to Granny's and…and she didn't know what she'd do.

Her eyes caught a house she recognized and Emma realized she had one more task before she confronted Killian.

She turned onto Sean Herman's street.

He must have seen her car pull up, because she barely set foot in the driveway before the door opened and out slipped Sean, looking nervous and a little green.

"Did you find her?" he asked. "Are they okay?"

"Ashley and the baby are fine," Emma said, looking him up and down. "You have a daughter."

"Good, that's—" Sean stopped, breathing in sharply as the real meaning of her words slapped him. "Really?" he asked, his voice tinged with awe. "A girl?"

Emma nodded.

Sean stared at her for a long moment, fingers raking through his hair. His attention wavered back to the house, his jaw clenching as a dark look entered his eyes. "I should have been there."

"Yeah," Emma said. "You should have."

"What was I supposed to do?" Sean asked. "I don't even have a job yet. My dad threatened to cut me off. What help could I have been? What would we have done?"

"The best you could," Emma said. She swallowed, she couldn't escape it anymore. Couldn't block out the memories, the image a scared eighteen year old created when as she held out hope that Killian would come back for them. That he would tell her it was all a big mistake. And yeah, they wouldn't have had anything but the backseat of a car to raise Henry in, not at first. She thought she'd buried those dreams a long time ago. "Look, I'm not here to yell at you Sean."

He shrugged. "I deserve worse. What kind of guy leaves his pregnant girlfriend just because Daddy told him to?" He spit the title out, like it was a curse, like he hadn't just become a father himself.

"It's not too late, Sean," Emma said. "Having the kid? That's the easy part. Comparatively. You screwed up, you chose to give that up, but that doesn't mean she won't need you for what comes next. From what I've seen, raising the kid is a whole lot harder."

Sean raised his chin. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He started down the driveway without another glance back to the house.

"Hold up," Emma said, taking his arm as he passed by her. "Ashley's been through a lot today."

"Right," Sean said. "Of course, I'm the last person she'd want to see right now." His shoulders fell, chest caving a little as he hung his head.

"No, no that's not what I meant," Emma said. "Listen, I don't know how involved you want to be."

"All the way," Sean said. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure that out, but you were right, I can't let my dad make my decisions for me. Not when I've known this whole time that he was wrong."

"Good." Emma let him go. "Then that's what you tell Ashley. Be prepared to do some groveling. But Sean, don't march in there and say those things if you are not one hundred percent committed to sticking it out. This isn't something you can just back out of when it gets tough. This is a kid and she and Ashley are going to depend on you, so don't step into that role if you don't have every intention of sticking with it."

"I do."

Emma smiled. "Well, then there's still a good chunk of visiting hours left. What happens after that is up to Ashley."

# # #

Killian looked in the mirror above the sink and saw a haunted man.

Emma had made a deal with Rumplestiltskin.

And it was his fault.

He hadn't been prepared at all for the way the sound of her voice spun him around (quite literally) earlier today.

He knew, of course, that he would have to seek her out at some point if he was to make things right with her, but he also knew he couldn't just waltz back into Emma's life and tell her the truth. The hard woman he saw on the street that night looked like she could chew him up and spit him back out without even realizing it.

"Sorry, love, I completely abandoned you because I'm in a feud with Rumplestiltskin and Peter Pan sent me on a magical quest to find this place, but I've been waiting for you ever since" would end with her laughing in his face at best. If there ever was a time Emma might have believed that he was the real Captain Hook—not that sorry wanker in the Disney film—she stood back in a kitschy hotel room wearing an over-sized t-shirt. And even that wasn't a sure bet, she had always called his stories fantastical.

Waiting chaffed at him—he was no coward, he was a man of action. After all, a man didn't earn the title of cutthroat pirate by watching fights from the sidelines. No, he was no coward, but he was also a smart man. He knew when to be patient.

When to strategize.

He needed a better story—or a more realistic one at least.

There was a better story., but Killian wouldn't admit the real reason he left even to himself.

It hit too close to home.

So he bided his time, avoiding town for several days, not wanting to chance a run in until he had his story straight. He had only been at Granny's because he finally had to admit he would starve if he didn't run into town for comestibles.

He hadn't been prepared to hear Emma speak of Rumplestiltskin by his false name.

He should have stopped her then, been quicker to react and warn her that this wasn't a fight she wanted to pick, but also hadn't been prepared for the look of absolute terror—anger, hatred, loathing, yes, not fear—on her face when her eyes met his. She was already in the bug and speeding away by the time his brain processed that look.

Killian slammed his hand against the wall. Too late then and too late when stalking the Crocodile took him to the hospital.

The idea of Emma owing Gold anything turned his blood to ice.

 _Weak_ , a voice in his head whispered. _She has you so twisted that you're useless, not even to protect her._

Swallowing back the rage and self-loathing, he turned off the faucet, wiping his hands on his jeans as he left the restroom. Before he reached the main room, Emma's voice floated back to him. He rounded the corner, bracing for the impact of whatever vitriol she had stored up for him. And yet, despite the tongue-lashing waiting for him, her voice drowned out the voices in his head.

Emma spoke with Ruby, her back turned to him and her hand held a few inches above her head. Ruby regarded her, eyes narrowed skeptically.

"Killian?" Ruby said. "You mean, Hook?"

"Hook?"

"Aye," Killian said, "I go by slightly more colorful moniker here."

Emma whirled, that same terror flashing in her eyes for a moment before she caught sight of the shining silver hook at the end of his arm. She blinked and took a step back, bumping into Ruby as she stared.

"As in Captain Hook?" Emma said, incredulity lacing her every word.

"Blame it on the mayor's boy," Killian said. "I believe he's the one who made it popular."

Emma met his eyes again and just like earlier, both here and at the hospital, Killian forgot how to breathe.

Her gaze went hard and flinty in an instant and the next thing he knew, she rushed at him, her fingers wrapping clawlike around his bicep as she hauled him back in the direction he'd come from. She shoved him through the bathroom door and up against the wall.

It would have been a bit of a turn on, actually, if it not for the very real anger and fear in her eyes…and the forearm she had pressed to his throat.

"Now, now, Swan," he said, making his tone playful, trying to show that she didn't need to be afraid. The man she had known, the man who had…cared for her all those years ago was still there. "A gentleman in the ladies' restroom? Terribly bad form, Emma."

The use of her name only seemed to make her angrier. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Killian quirked an eyebrow. "Here? At Granny's? Well, your instructions…"

"No, in Storybrooke."

"Ah," Killian said. Gently, he pushed at her forearm. "Do you mind, love? It's a bit difficult to speak with you cutting off my air supply."

Grudgingly, Emma stepped back, still glaring as she crossed her arms over her chest. The old Emma would have made herself as small as possible, tried to disappear into the yellow tile of the bathroom. This Emma held her chin up defiantly, shoulders thrown back despite the fear in her eyes.

"What are you doing here, Killian?"

"I live here."

"What?"

"Go ahead, ask Ruby. She'll tell you I stop in of a morning for coffee."

As if summoned, the bathroom door creaked and Ruby peeked her head in. "Everything good in here? Hook, she bothering you?"

Emma glared at her. "Really, you're taking his side?"

"He's a regular," Ruby shot back. "I've known him for…years."

"Ten years," Killian corrected. "We're fine, Ruby."

The brunette narrowed her eyes. "Okay, well, keep it short. This isn't an office."

"Don't worry," Emma muttered. "We're almost done here." She waited, fingers clenching and unclenching around her elbow, until Ruby let the door swing closed behind her. "You've been here for the last ten years?" she demanded, a stress on the number telling him she hadn't missed the significance of that number. "This is where you ran off to?"

Killian nodded.

"How does—" Emma bit her lip. "Nevermind. I don't want to know. If you're a regular, why was today the first time I saw you?"

Killian shrugged. "The bug isn't exactly subtle."

Emma sighed. "And there was the newspaper article."

"Aye, there was that," he said. "I thought—well, with the way I left things, I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me."

"You'd be right about that," she said. "You know Henry?"

"I think everyone knows Henry," Killian said. "The lad's never met a stranger. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing," Emma said. "Regina just doesn't strike me as the type who would appreciate someone teaching her son to pick locks."

"Those days are behind me, Emma."

Emma snorted, rolling her eyes.

He edged closer. "I've been here this entire time, which makes you the interloper. So tell me, Swan, what brings you to our idyllic town?"

Emma retreated, bumping against one of the stall doors and sending it swinging. Her eyes darted to the door, prompting Killian to back up.

"It's a long story," Emma said.

"And how long are you staying?"

Emma swallowed, her glare turning full force on him as she buried the fear. "Not that it's any of your business, but I work for Graham now."

"The Sheriff?"

Emma nodded.

"Well, that's ironic."

"The only reason you get to know that is so that you know I'm keeping an eye on you. You put one toe out of line," Emma paused, letting the sentence dangle for a moment, "I'll make your life hell. Is that clear, _Hook_?"

She sneered as she said the name, her eyes falling to the silver curve at the end of his left arm. The tone, the disdainful glance had him feeling like she'd plunged the weapon into his heart. And the worst part was that he deserved it.

"Listen…"

Emma held her hand up. "No. I don't want to hear it. You have—you have no idea—"Her voice cracked. The tears shining in her eyes tore at Killian's insides, but her stiff posture screamed danger. Trying to comfort Emma would only end with him on the ground. "You know what? This is ridiculous. I've moved on. You've moved on. We're done here." She seized the door handle, wrenching the door open and storming out.

Her departure happened so suddenly it took Killian's brain a moment to catch up. He dashed after her when it did, but Emma was already out the door and—Killian sighed. The bug still sat at the curb, but Emma was nowhere to be found. The bell jingled and a pair of high heels clomped up behind him.

"Care to share that story?" Ruby asked.

"Not particularly," he said. "We knew each other before I came here."

Ruby nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. She shrugged. "Your business, I guess."

"Yes," Killian bit out. "And let's make sure we keep it that way."

# # #

Emma ran the entire way back to the apartment.

Getting into the bug and driving away would have been easier and faster and Killian would have been less likely to catch her, but if Emma got in her car right now she might keep driving all the way out of town. And she promised Henry he would see her tomorrow.

Besides, if she left who would make sure Killian stayed the hell away from Henry.

 _But Henry is his son too_.

Emma ignored the voice in her head, the one telling her that this was a small town and he was bound to find out eventually. Henry had enough going on as it was, he didn't need Killian crashing into his life and turning it upside. If experience meant anything, she knew that's what he would do. He left her. He would leave Henry too.

Her sudden entrance, still breathing hard from her run, surprised Mary Margaret, who was engrossed in some sort of decoupage project. Mary Margaret searched Emma's face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," Emma bit out, shucking off her jacket. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I said I'm fine."

Three hours later, Emma lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the three of them curled up in the back of the bug. Well, her, Killian, and a pink little baby in a blue blanket. She swiped at the tears again, they hadn't stopped since she retreated up here. They tracked silently down her cheeks without her permission.

She fell asleep, trying to forget the way he said her name.

* * *

 **Suuuuuper long chapter, sorry about that guys, but I couldn't find a good place in the narrative to break it that also left a decent-sized chapter. Anyways, life has been a little crazy and I've been trying to focus on the WIP, but once this draft is done I'll get a little break and hopefully I'll be able to be a little more frequent for a bit.**

 **Also, I know in the show she stayed in Tallahasee for two years, but since Killian came in and decided to screw up the timeline, I had to make some adjustments. It will all make sense come season two, I promise.**

 **Anyways, YEAH, she knows he's in town. The reunion has happened! Now I can start having the real fun. And by fun, I mean now I yell at Killian for making a everything incredibly complicated (love you though).**

 **Let me know what you think. I'll try to get the next chap up ASAP, but no promises.**


	7. Chapter 7

_October 2011_

Emma considered staying in bed all day when she woke Sunday morning. She decided against for two reasons. One: Her roommate seemed like the type to try to get her to talk and avoiding her would be much easier if she was out of the apartment. Two: Damage control.

Granny's was bustling when she walked in the door. Stomach somersaulting, she scanned the room, not sure what she would do if Killian had become the Sunday breakfast type.

"Haven't seen him this morning," Ruby said from behind her. She wore her usual number—not that she was judging but those shorts had to be some sort of health code violation—and appraised Emma with a cynical eye, her pen tap-tap-tapping against her order book. "Breakfast today?"

"No," she said, "just my hot chocolate."

Ruby nodded.

Emma sidled up to the counter, leaning against an empty stool as she watched Ruby work. She kept glancing behind her, giving Emma that same narrow-eyed look.

"So," she said in a low voice as she slid the cup toward Emma, "how long have you known Hook?"

"I _knew_ him," Emma said. "A long time ago."

"Based on last night, I take it things didn't end well."

"I trusted him and he left. End of story."

Ruby nodded. "He said he'd been here ten years, right?"

"You'd be a better judge of that, don't you think?" Emma sipped at her drink. "Unless you weren't here back then."

"No, I was here," she said, picking at the Formica. "I've always been here." She sighed. Before Emma could make too hard about that, Ruby leaned forward. "So if he left you ten years ago…"

"I never said that," Emma snapped, even though it was true. She didn't understand why he would leave her and come here.

And the way he mentioned it to her before he split, like he came here to wait for her. Which was absolutely ridiculous. He couldn't have expected her to follow, couldn't know she would end up here a decade later. Unless he'd meant it as a test, mentioning it to see just how gullible and willing she was, probably banking on how desperately she wanted someone to depend on. Even if that made sense, despite everything else, that kind of manipulation didn't sound like the Killian she had known.

Not that she was sure she ever really knew him. Not after what happened.

Ruby gave her a look, a clear _Cut the crap_ as she continued her thought. "And Henry's nine…"

Emma let her reach, the sentence hanging between them as she gave Ruby a hard look, daring her to ask the question.

"I'm guessing he doesn't know," Ruby said finally.

"He doesn't deserve to know," Emma said.

"Emma, this is a small town. He's going to hear and do the math eventually."

"At which point—if that happens—I will deal with it." After all, she'd been in town almost two weeks and he didn't know last night. Maybe it was old news by now. "Listen, Ruby, you don't know him like I did and trust me, Henry's better off without him. He has enough to sort through without Ki—Hook screwing things up for him. I am asking you not to say anything. Please."

Ruby pursed her lips, drumming her nails against the countertop. "Fine, but not for you, for Henry."

Emma sighed. "Thank you."

# # #

Killian spent Sunday on his boat, running his encounter with Emma the previous evening over and over in his thoughts as he cleaned the _Miss Guided_ from stem to stern. Truly, he did his best thinking while working with his hand, he always had.

Whatever trust issues Emma had when he first met her had grown into mile high walls. And since he had contributed to their making, he could hardly begrudge her the effort it would take to convince her to giv him a second chance. He certainly didn't deserve such a privilege, but he would never be able to live with himself if he didn't try.

Which made his first task to apologize for leaving in the first place.

Monday morning found him rising extra early, hoping to get to Granny's before she did. As the bug still occupied it's place down the street, he guessed that she lived nearby.

"Good morning, Ruby," he said as he sauntered into the diner.

She looked up from taking some woman's order, nodding in acknowledgment before returning to her work. Killian leaned against the counter and waited. Perhaps Ruby's attire was rarely professional, but her manner as she took the woman's order was. He admired that. Though he knew she wasn't always happy under her grandmother's thumb, she hardly ever treated customers with disdain or contempt—even those who deserved it.

At last, she delivered the ticket to the cook and came to take his order.

"Your usual?" she asked, already reaching for the paper cup.

"And a hot chocolate," Killian said, "with cinnamon."

Ruby's hand froze halfway to the coffeepot, her eyebrows shooting up. "That's going to be a waste of your money, Hook."

"Why? Has she been in already?" he asked.

"No," Ruby said, "but she'll probably throw it in your face."

Killian nodded. "I'd deserve that, but if you don't mind I'll take that hot chocolate all the same."

Ruby's eyes searched him, her scrutiny tempting Killian to squirm like a schoolchild. At last, she shrugged. "Your funeral."

Killian sipped on his coffee, black as always, as Ruby readied the hot chocolate. She took her time, carefully sprinkling the cinnamon over the whipped cream before she nestled the cup in a cardboard carrier. Killian nodded his thanks, placing his own drink cattycorner to Emma's, before fishing a bill out of his pocket and tossing it onto the counter.

"Change is yours," Killian said.

Ruby shook her head, but pointed up the street. "She'll be coming from that way. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"And I appreciate it," he said, shouldering the door open.

He didn't need the tip as it turned out, because the first thing he saw when he turned that direction was Emma standing next to a giant yellow vehicle sporting black, block letters on the side that declared "Storybrooke Elementary". She waved as the mayor's boy disappeared inside the bus.

There was something about their relationship that struck Killian as strange, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He had spoken the truth. Henry had a knack for striking up friendships with the oddest people, one of whom was Killian himself. Perhaps it was simply that Emma understood things the mayor couldn't. Henry was no lost boy, but his parents had given him up and the not knowing must sit as heavy on his soul as it did Emma's. It made sense that they would connect. After all, hadn't it been that connection that kept Killian and Emma together all those years ago?

Emma caught sight of him standing by the bug and slid the keys she clutched into her pocket, her mouth turning to a tight, dark line.

"Swan," he said, smiling.

"Hook," she replied, narrowing her eyes at the cardboard carrier and its attendant beverages. "Planning to meet someone?"

Killian set the drinks on the roof of her car. The cup rasped against the cardboard as he pried it from the carrier. Smiling despite Emma's grim look, he offered her the hot beverage.

Her eyes flicked to the cup, then back up at him. "What is that supposed to be?"

"Hot chocolate," Killian said. "Or at least, that's what Ruby claims she made."

"You know what I mean."

"A peace offering, as we'll be seeing each other regularly." He gave a quick half bow, arm still extended.

Emma crossed her arms, her fingers crinkling the leather. Red was a good color for her, different—brighter—from what she used to wear. When he knew her, her jackets tended toward neutral colors. He wanted to find out what had inspired the change, but first he needed to get though a conversation without her threatening him bodily.

"You don't have to drink it, Swan, but could you at least hold the cup a moment so I can get my own drink out?"

Grudgingly, Emma curled her fingers around the little paper cup, allowing Killian to retrieve his own drink. Slipping his hook through a hole on the paper carrier, Killian transported it the few feet to the trash can and disposed of it. When he turned back, Emma watched him with a more open expression, curious, but curiosity quickly morphed back to annoyance when his gaze fell on her again.

"Trash can is right here," Killian said, gesturing to the oversized metal basket.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To make things right."

Emma snorted. "And you think a cup of cocoa is going to do that?"

"No," Killian said. "But I thought perhaps a few dozen would be a good start."

Emma clenched her jaw, but couldn't hide the spark of amusement in her eyes. "That's it?"

"That is it."

"Does it have cinnamon?"

"Of course," Killian said.

Emma nodded and turned down the street, heading toward the sheriff's station. Killian sighed. At least she hadn't gotten into the bug and driven off. There was determined and then there was obsessive. He hurried after her.

"Listen, Swan…"

"Whatever you have to say, Killian, I don't want to hear it."

"Emma…"

"No." She spun on him. "No, don't _Emma_ me. You don't get to do that. What can you say…what excuse can you possibly give that fixes what happened?"

Killian bit the inside of his cheek, he deserved the way her words lashed into him. By far, one of the most painful he'd ever endured—and he had endured his fair share.

If it was too late, then he couldn't blame her for wanting nothing to do with him. It was his own bloody fault. He might be a stubborn asshole and most certainly no company for a princess, but he was a gentleman and he would never force his presence when it was unwanted.

"You're right, I can't." He swallowed. "I just thought you deserved to know how sorry I am. I wanted you to know that not a day has gone by that I don't regret leaving. I can't explain it, not in any way that will satisfy you, not when the explanation doesn't even satisfy me. If you'll let me, I'd like to repair what we had. But if you want nothing to do with me, I'll understand, say the word and I'll stay out of your way."

Emma clenched her jaw, her gaze trailing down the street. He didn't turn to see what it was, didn't have to, her eyes had that faraway look of someone caught in a memory. The last ten years weighed heavy in her gaze.

"We could have been—we were a family, Killian," Emma said, turning her eyes on him, the full force of her hurt hitting him, "and you threw it all away, everything you had, because I wasn't good enough for you."

"Emma…No…"

She shoved the cup of hot chocolate at him, barely giving him enough time to pin it against his chest with his arm before she left, head held high as she walked away. Killian watched her go, murder radiating from her being, and counted himself lucky she hadn't done exactly as Ruby suggested she would. He deserved that and worse.

And yet, when he gave her an out and she hadn't taken it.

Perhaps, there was hope in that.

She was worth fighting for, even if it took him another ten years to regain her trust. He could live with that. If he could wait three hundred bloody years to kill the Crocodile, he could give Emma the space she needed. He could wait as long as it took to convince her that he had—that he could change.

# # #

What possessed her to accept the hot chocolate?

Growling, Emma hurried around the corner, blood boiling. He thought a cup of cocoa and an apology were enough to repair the damage done. He thought that they could just go back to what they were after the way he left.

It was ridiculous and she questioned his motives the first time around even more.

Why had he taken her in? Time and experience had taught her that guys only wanted one thing and that, by and large, once they got that they would be on their merry way. That was why she only did one night stands. She saw no reason to pretend things were any different. Not for girls like her at least.

She should have dumped that cocoa in the trash the minute he handed it to her and told him off, the way she had imagined so many times when she was in prison and pregnant.

And yet, she hadn't told him to "bugger" himself right out of town. Despite his offering.

An oversight on her part. She wanted nothing to do with Killian Jones. Absolutely nothing.

"You know, Emma," Graham said, startling Emma from his spot leaning against his squad car, "if you didn't want the job, you didn't have to take it."

"What?

He pushed off of his car, standing at full height as he crossed his arms over his chest. "It was a job offer, not a court order, if you don't want to take it…"

"No," Emma cut in. "Sorry, I just had a run in before I came here, didn't put me in the best mood."

Graham glanced behind her, grey eyes darkening. "Are you alright?"

Emma scoffed. "I can handle myself, Sheriff."

"Oh, I've no doubt of that," he said, smiling slightly, "but that doesn't mean you aren't upset. Which, I might add, the dark look suggests you are."

"I thought you were a cop, not a shrink," Emma said.

Graham laughed. "Point taken." He patted the hood of his car. "I thought I might show you the town, let you get a feel for the job before you committed fully. I'm afraid it's not as exciting as what you did in Boston, but it still keeps you on your toes some days." He hit the button on his key fob and the locks popped up with an audible click. Graham waited until Emma was on the other side before he opened his own door and slid inside, the engine revving to life with an unfamiliar ease.

She already knew the streets at the center of town, so Graham took her into the suburbs, giving her a rundown of any trouble she could expect. His voice had a pleasant, soothing cadence to it, one Emma couldn't help enjoying as they drove. According to him, Storybrooke was every bit the sleepy town she'd pegged it for on her first night here. But even in a sleepy town, you had the occasional issue. Loose dog, cat in a tree, lost grandmother, town drunk. Nothing like the criminal element she dealt with back in Boston.

"So how long have you been here?" she asked.

Graham shrugged. "Awhile. Things stay the same so much here—time just sort of blends together, but I do remember sitting in the same seat as you on my first day."

"What happened to the last sheriff?" This was small talk, she was not still looking for proof that Henry was wrong. Of course Henry was wrong. The only curses that actually existed were the four letter kind that got bleeped out on newscasts.

"He retired."

"You know pretty much everyone here, don't you?"

"A fair few of them, yes. Mostly the troublemakers though."

"Do you know Killian?" At his blank look, Emma tried again. "He goes by Hook here."

"Ah, him." Graham nodded. "Is he the reason you looked ready to pick a fight with a grizzly bear this morning?"

"Maybe."

Graham shot her a sharp look. "I know of him. Lives and works down by the docks. He keeps out of trouble for the most part. Wicked temper drunk though. I've let him sleep it off at the station once or twice."

"Huh," Emma said. "He really did settle down."

And that hurt. Because if that was his plan all along, why did he leave her? What was the point of offering her that life if he never planned to take her with him? The answer was obvious when she thought about it. He told her what she needed to hear to get what he wanted. And here he was pulling the same trick again. He liked the chase apparently, and here she was presenting a new challenge.

"You sound like you knew him," Graham said.

Emma looked out the window. "Yeah, a long time ago."

"Is he—"

"Henry's dad?" Emma sighed. Her chances of keeping this under wraps certainly looked grim if that was the first thing anyone asked her. "Yeah."

"Oh," Graham said, blinking. "I was actually going ask if he was someone I should worry about."

Emma groaned. "Damn. Can you forget I told you that then?"

Graham pulled the car over, turning around in his seat to look at Emma. "So…"

"He doesn't know, and I don't want him to know," she said, not quite able to meet Graham's eyes. She felt his judgment. "Look, if he's got a good thing going here, I don't want to ruin it for him." That surprised her, but it was true. She didn't know what to do with Killian right now, but she knew she didn't want to turn his life upside down. "I just—I don't want him to hurt Henry like he hurt me. Okay?"

"But he's not any danger to the boy?"

"Only if you consider cutting and running without explanation as dangerous."

The steering wheel creaked under Graham's fingers. "Then this can stay between us, but Emma, if that ever changes, you have to tell Regina at least. If he's a danger to Henry, she's the first person who should know."

"Fair enough," Emma said. The thought had never occurred to her. She probably should tell Regina, regardless, but for some reason the thought irked her. Things with Regina were tense enough, no way Henry's mom would believe she only just discovered Killian living in town.

The radio squawked, a call coming over in broken, crackling syllables. Graham adjusted a few knobs, taking the call. Some crotchety old man calling about teenagers playing in his yard.

"Ready for your first official experience as deputy?" Graham asked.

"Ready and raring."

He snorted, checking for the non-existent traffic before he pulled out onto the street.

The day dragged on. They took another call for a cat up a tree. And a call about a stolen bike that turned out to be just a couple of kids playing a prank on a friend. There were quite a few antsy people, but no one yelled or threw things or threatened them. Emma wouldn't have guessed she might enjoy a boring, easy job, but…to her surprise she found it satisfying. As the sun sun below the horizon, Graham headed back to the station, wanting to finish Emma's little tour before he got back out there to supervise the late night Halloween crowd. Already, little kids were running up and down the neighborhoods, clad in cheap fabric with glowsticks hanging around their necks.

"So," he said, the thud of his boots echoing as he strode down the station's empty hallways. "What do you think? Interesting enough for you?"

"It's certainly different from bail bonds work," Emma said, "but in a good way."

Graham grinned at her, eyes lighting up. "So you'll be staying on?"

"I told you I'd take the job."

"Good," he said, flipping on the overhead lights as they entered the room. He gestured toward the desks in the main room, heading for his office. "Your uniform is on the desk."

"Uniform?"

"Yep."

A shirt and pants sat atop the first desk, still in their cellophane packaging. Emma rolled her eyes. They were hideous. The standard khaki fare that plagued all highway patrolmen with stiff, black epaulets on the shoulders. Emma pulled the shirt out of the wrapping, grimacing at the clip-on tie. She shook it out, holding it against her chest. It was at least a size too big. Nope, not happening.

"A tie," she said, turning to Graham with the shirt still held to her shoulders. "You know you don't have to dress a woman as a man to give her authority."

Graham exited his office, turning something small over in his hands. "So, you think you can get people to do what you want in that red coat?"

Emma dropped the hideous shirt. "I'm getting you to do what I want right now." She smirked at him, hands on her hips. Assertive, she told herself, not flirty. The last thing she needed was a workplace fling. Kind of difficult to escape those, unless quitting was an option and it wasn't, not if she planned to stay.

He sighed. "Well, at least wear the badge," he pleaded, brandishing a little leather clip with a shiny, six-pointed star. The words "Sheriff's Department" circled a little depiction of a tree. He held the badge out to her, eyes drilling into her. "Go on—take it. If you really want to be a part of this community, we have to make it official."

She took the badge, more unnerved by the solid, weight of the leather in her hand than the way Graham's fingers brushed against hers. The symbol of authority chafed against her psyche. Emma Swan, an authority? She'd spent ten years studiously avoiding this kind of real, lasting responsibility. But having a town counting on her couldn't be any more difficult than having a kid that counted on her. Could it?

She did need this job.

Emma slid the badge home on the waistband of her jeans.

The earth shook beneath their feet, the crash so loud Emma felt it reverberate inside her. She grabbed for the desk, trying to stay on her feet. Graham reached for her, staggering briefly. Their eyes met for a moment and then all the phones were ringing, taking his attention elsewhere.

He didn't bother answering the phone. Instead, grabbing his keys from their hook and striding out the door.

Emma looked down at her badge.

It was coincidence, right? Weird timing.

Of course it was. Emma shook the thoughts from her mind—she was starting sound like Henry—and hurried after Graham.

So much for a boring first day.

# # #

They found the source of the trouble quickly.

The crowd was quicker, already ringing the crater as Graham and Emma drove up in time to see Regina jumping out of her own car. The area had obviously been recently disturbed, fine grit still floating in the air.

"Everyone!" Regina called, approaching the crowd. "Step back, please!"

The whole town turned out it seemed, or most of the people she knew, Emma noted as she took in more than a handful of familiar faces surveying the mangled scrap metal in the middle of the vast depression.

"Is that a crater?" Ruby demanded.

"No, there were tunnels," an old man replied. Marco, the man from her first morning in town. "Old mines. Something collapsed."

"Sheriff," Regina began, marching up to Graham. "Set up a police perimeter. Marco, why don't you help with the fire department?" She looked taken aback to find Emma there, her mouth puckering as though she tasted something sour. "Miss Swan, this is now official town business. You're free to go."

"Well, actually, I work for the town now," Emma said, feeling more than a little satisfied as Regina's sour grape look deepened.

Graham nodded. "She's my new deputy."

"They say the Mayor's always last to know."

"It's in my budget," Graham replied.

"Indeed." Regina plastered an official smile on her face, nodding at Emma. "Deputy, why don't you make yourself useful and help with crowd control?" A look passed between Regina and Graham as she took a step back, adjusting her jacket and standing a little straighter. "People of Storybrooke, don't be alarmed. We've always known this area was honeycombed with old mining tunnels. But fear not. I'm going to undertake a project to make this area safe – to rehabilitate it into city use. We will bulldoze it, collapse it, pave it."

"Pave it?" a familiar voice cried. Henry appeared, Archie hot on his heels, pushing through the crowd to his mom. "What if there's something down there?"

Emma's head jerked around, her fingers clenching around the roll of yellow tape she just retrieved from the back of the squad car. She fought the urge to grab him and pull him back from the hole, he stood too close for her liking, but his real mom was here and she seemed to have similar thoughts as she cut off hi headlong rush toward the crater.

"Henry. What are you doing here?"

"What's down there?" Henry asked again, an accusatory note in is voice.

"Nothing," Regina said, voice tight with concern. "Now step back." She looked up, her eyes taking in the crowd once again. "In fact, everyone! Please, please step back. Thank you."

Emma held her hands out, directing people to step away from hole, gently shepherding the people who tried to peer just a little too long.

Henry's voice cut through the night again. "What was that?"

Emma turned to see Regina pull her hand out of her pocket and direct an exasperated look at her son. A hot prickle washed over the back of Emma's neck and she turned, knowing she would find Killian watching them and making conclusions.

Only he wasn't there.

"Henry, enough," Regina said, her patience seeming in short supply today. Then again, when wasn't her patience in short supply. "Listen. This is a safety issue. Wait in the car." She watched as Henry turned, trudging back to the black sedan. She waved a dismissive hand toward Emma and Graham. "Deputy Swan, Sheriff—cordon off the area." With a dismissive toss of her head, Regina stalked off, leaving Emma and Graham to deal with the crowd while she went off to talk to…whoever mayors talked to whilst settling a crisis.

Though in Emma's estimation, this hardly qualified as one.

After Graham grabbed a couple of guys from the fire station to help keep nosy townspeople from wandering too close, he took care of hammering the stakes into the ground around the crater, while Emma went from point to point with the yellow tape. The adult version of connect the dots. Every now and then, she glanced over at Regina's car, where Henry hunkered down in the passenger seat, his dark head nearly invisible against the black leather.

Emma was on the last stretch, about to close the oddly shaped polygon when she heard the hoarse whisper.

"Archie!" Henry hissed, waving at his therapist. "Over here." Crouching low, Henry trotted around the squad car, meeting Emma as she threw the roll of police tape in the back seat. Archie came, full of skepticism, as Henry fixed serious look on first him and then Emma. "This requires all of Operation Cobra. Both of you."

Archie's head jerked up, giving Emma a look that said he knew the whole story. "I didn't realize I was in Operation Cobra."

"Of course you are," Henry said, his voice soft and serious. "You know everything. We can't let her do this. What if there's something down there?" A dozen questions laced his words. Another mystery to be solved, exactly the kind of thing Henry loved. If it wasn't feeding into his delusions, Emma might have found it cute.

"They're just some old tunnels," she pointed out.

"That just happen to collapse right after you get here?" he said, like she should know better. Editing reality as always. "You're changing things. You're weakening the curse."

"That's not what's happening."

Henry wasn't having any of it. "Yes, it is! Did you do anything different today? Cause something made this happen."

Emma's hand went to the badge on her belt again, and she immediately started kicking herself. She was supposed to rubbing off on Henry, not the other way around. It was a coincidence. Nothing more. A cosmic joke that she was reading way too much into.

Before she could reply, Regina marched over.

"Henry," Regina said, bending down so Henry got the full force of her stern glare. "I told you to wait in the car. Deputy, do your job."

Emma turned tail and ran, Regina was in a fine mood today and she did not want to be in the woman's way right now, especially when the next words to leave Regina's mouth were, "Dr. Hopper. A word, please?"

Whatever Regina had to say, it must have been quick, because when Emma looked over her shoulder to check on Archie, he stood alone. She took in the caved shoulders, the bowed head, the tight grip on his umbrella . Regina may have been quick, but she was apparently also efficient.

"Hey," Emma said, coming back over. She stuck her hands in her back pockets, not entirely sure why she felt the urge to…what? Comfort? Encourage? "You okay? She, uh, she doesn't blame you for bringing Henry does she?"

Archie didn't reply at first, but something in the silence shook him out of his thoughts. "What? Oh, no, she's doesn't blame me for that. I pick Henry up from school quite often when town business keeps her from doing so."

A car door slammed. Regina's car door. Emma looked over in time to see Regina gun the engine and speed away from the area, Henry slouched in the front seat. His posture screamed sulking, but as they drove past, Emma caught the telltale glint of mischief in his eye.

Archie sighed.

"You sure you're okay?" Emma asked.

"Yes, of course," Archie said.

A lie.

But then, Emma didn't suppose she would want to advertise getting dressed down by Regina either.

"Okay, well—" She trailed off, catching sight of a familiar face in the crowd. So he was here.

How had she missed him?

Killian for his part seemed oblivious to her presence. He was assisting another man in an orange safety vest as they set up barricades, adding extra precaution to the highest edges around the crater. The leather jacket was nowhere to be seen, a vest and button down shirt clothing him to the wrists and still somehow leaving very little to the imagination. Emma stared at the set of his shoulders, watching the fabric slide over muscles she could picture in her head.

Killian paused, tilting his head slightly, enough to make it clear that he had been aware of Emma from the start.

Red, hot anger flared inside her and before she thought better of it, she marched up to him.

"What are you doing here?"

Killian slid the crossbar into place and turned to Emma. "Currently? I'm trying to make sure only a sodding idiot could miss the giant hole in the ground." He swept his hand expressively toward the crater. "It would appear they were a bit short-handed."

"I mean what are you doing here, in Storybrooke?"

Killian sighed. "We've covered this already, Swan…"

"Why, Killian?" And to her horror, her voice cracked.

His eyes softened, understanding dawning. He nodded to the man he assisted, gently taking Emma's elbow and guiding her away from the crowd. She jerked her arm away after the first few steps, but she followed.

They stood in silence, Killian worrying his lip between his teeth and running his fingers through his hair. Emma clenched her fists, telling herself she was ridiculous for want to see if it was still as soft as it had been all those years ago. Just when she couldn't take it anymore, when she thought she might explode from the tension—or punch him, she'd been wanting to deck him for ten years and it was really taking all of her restraint not to—Killian spoke.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Killian said softly. His hand left his side for a moment, halted halfway to her and dropped back. Eyes pleading, he waited.

Emma swallowed. "I take it you don't think that anymore?"

Killian shook his head.

"Why?"

He sighed. "Leaving you was never the right decision." He looked away, scratching behind his ear. The toe of his boot dug into the gravel. "I'm sorry, Emma. I was weak. I took the easy way out when I should have been strong. We could have figured out a way to make it work."

Emma's thoughts were like leaves in a hurricane.

How many times had she imagined those words? _I'm sorry. I should have stayed._

If he had stayed, she knew without a doubt that Henry would be with her. She almost spat that at him to see the look of hurt on his face, to see him hate himself as much as she hated him for leaving. She didn't. She wasn't ready for him to know that they had this…they had Henry connecting them forever.

"You expect me to believe that you were thinking of what was best for me?"

"What else would I have been thinking about, Emma?"

She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to put the pieces together. His eyes narrowed, a slight flush creeping to his cheeks.

"Gods, no," Killian said. He took a step toward her and Emma didn't have the sense to step back—at least that's what she told herself. "Do you really think so lowly of me that you believe I would deliberately set out to take advantage of a teenage girl?"

"Well, clearly, I didn't know you as well as I thought," Emma said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "And, clearly, you don't know me as well as you thought. What makes you think you can waltz back into my life and expect things to go right back to the way they were?"

Killian gave her an exasperated look. "First off, that's not what I expect. I fully expect to have to earn your trust again. _And_ I expect it will be difficult." He closed even more distance between them, the blue of his eyes holding her steady, trapping her, even as he lifted his hook between them. "And secondly," he said, brushing her jacket aside. "You're still wearing the keychain I gave you."

The hook slid under the pendant so deftly, she barely felt it. Fear flashed through her—was Killian actually threatening her—but she realized quickly that wasn't the case. She remembered the way he used to reach out with his left arm, only to pause and look down. As though he expected something to be there. She thought he just hadn't adjusted to his missing hand yet. Now she understood, the hook was such a natural extension of him that it didn't matter to him which he used.

Didn't mean Emma was comfortable with it.

She stepped back, her fingers closing around the swan charm. With a hard yank, she pulled it off.

"It was a reminder," she said, "to never trust anyone ever again." She grabbed his hand, turning his palm up and folding the necklace inside. "And you can have it back now."

Killian looked at the little charm sitting in his hand, the silver chain spilling through his fingers.

"That used to be how I lived," he said softly, avoiding her eyes. "But now I know better. There's no sadder way to live."

"Really?" Emma said. "And what led you to that epiphany."

He didn't speak for a long moment. He met her gaze, his eyes cutting right through her. "You did, when you came into town and I realized that I the way I felt about you hadn't changed."

Emma scoffed.

"I am sorry, Emma." He closed his fist around the necklace again, shoving it into his pocket. "And if we can never be more than friends, I understand, but it's a small town and I'd like us to at least be able to stand in line at the shop without attacking each other."

"I know how to be civil," Emma said and she turned, stomping back to the squad car, hoping she got there before she broke down again. She still had a car ride with Graham to get through. If she was going to do that, she needed to rein in her emotions. She needed to get everything back under control.

# # #

Killian knew the moment Emma stepped out of the squad car, he felt her presence settle in the back of his consciousness as he surveyed Storybrooke's latest attraction. Things were certainly much more interesting now that Emma was in town.

As she moved and worked among the crowd, he was aware of her, but he didn't approach her. Not after this morning. No, right now was the time to stay out of her way, let her come to him. Go about his business and perhaps, once their paths had led them into contact a time or two, he would broach mending things again.

The last thing he expected was for Emma to drag him away from helping with clean up and ask for the answers she claimed to be uninterested in this morning.

Of course, he couldn't give her the real answer, but he gave her the important one: he was weak. He took the easy way out. He ran. He should have—for her he could have been strong enough to rebuild the lines between them. And who knew, perhaps, after more time had passed, after they had healed and grown—well, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was always meant to find Emma Swan.

He just found her at the wrong time.

As he watched her pick her way carefully back to the squad car, he truly hoped that the mistake in timing hadn't cost them their chance. The hope scared him, the last time he had hope like that he lost it. It was the reason he was here, after all.

"I don't appreciate you harassing my deputy, Hook," a rolling voice said from behind him.

Killian turned to find the sheriff staring him down, hands on his hips, one of them rested casually on his gun. Killian raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know what things looked like from your angle," he said, "but she approached me."

"And you expect me to believe it's coincidence that you ended up here, when you knew authorities would show up?"

"Not much happens in this town. I'd find it stranger if everyone didn't turn out whenever something does." Killian crossed his arms, tucking the hook under his arm last minute. Wouldn't do to have the sheriff decide Killian was threatening him. "Now, are we done here? Because last I checked Emma was more than capable of taking care of herself."

Graham narrowed his eyes. "She's in my employ. It's my job to watch her back."

Despite himself, Killian nodded. "I'm not here to cause trouble, Humbert, just came down to lend a hand."

Graham took a moment deciding whether Killian meant that as a joke. He must have settled on 'no', because he still looked grim as he closed the distance between them. "Emma says she has a handle on the situation…"

"Then perhaps you should listen to her."

"I'm willing to take her word that it's none of my business," Graham said, "but if it turns out she's wrong, if you hurt any of the people I care about I will find a way to take you out of the equation. From what I know about Emma's past, I'm sure there's something I could dig up on you. They're looking for you somewhere, I'll bet."

Truthfully, Graham was right. There were people looking for him in all sorts of places, but none in this realm. Shrugging and walking away would have been the best answer, but Killian couldn't stomach to look of self-righteous contempt on Graham's face. Whatever Emma told him, it can't have been good, other than the few times Graham caught him stumbling home drunkenly, he had never experienced a problem with the sheriff. So rather than give the best answer, Killian went for the low blow.

"Oh, so you care about her, do you?" he asked in a low voice, lips curling up into a knowing smirk. "Tell me, does the mayor know that?"

Graham took a step back, glare intensifying.

"Perhaps you should get your own affairs in order before you come poking holes at how I handle mine." He saluted Graham lazily. "Evening, Sheriff." And with that, he swaggered away.


	8. Chapter 8

_November 2011_

When Emma came home for lunch the next day, Mary Margaret was pulling a pan of lightly toasted marshmallows out of the oven. She slid onto one of the stools, wincing at the viciousness with which Mary Margaret speared one of the gooey white blobs. It smooshed, oozing around the fork and sticking stubbornly to the plate. Mary Margaret gave up, picking out a second marshmallow more gently.

"Curious choice of lunch," Emma said, though she really had no room to judge. She knew how to cook, she'd picked up a few things bouncing around her foster homes and right after she got out of prison eating take out every night wasn't really an option, so she taught herself some basic food skills. It was depressing though, cooking when you only had one person to feed. She spent the last several years living on a consistent diet of take out and take out leftovers.

Mary Margaret remained silent, her focus taken up in transferring the marshmallow to the plate on the counter without it sliding off the fork.

Emma didn't push.

Her patience was rewarded.

"I'm the worst person in the world," Mary Margaret said, pressing down firmly as she sandwiched the marshmallow between two graham crackers and two—this really did look serious—pieces of chocolate.

Emma scoffed. "Really? In the whole world?" Just off the top of her head, she could name at least three people who were worse people than her friend. Hell, she could probably name dozens, but the names of her exes came most easily.

One apparently persistent ex in particular.

But she was not thinking about that.

"If Kathryn was horrible it'd be easier," Mary Margaret said, "but she's so…nice."

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, suppressing a groan as the pieces fell into place. David. This was about David. She tried to warn Henry—she tried to warn Mary Margaret too. Clearly, her warnings had gone unheeded on both counts.

"And what, exactly, would be easier?" Emma asked, knowing that you had to let some people come around to things themselves.

Mary Margaret stared at her, eyes wide, like she just realized she'd spoken out loud. "Nothing."

"Nothing's a good idea," Emma agreed. "You're smart. You know not to get involved with a married guy. It's not worth the heartache . Trust me."

Mary Margaret looked up from her second s'more, eyes zeroing in on Emma's face with questioning look that told Emma she had exactly the amount of time it took Mary Margaret to finish chewing before the tables were turned on her.

The knock on the door had never been more welcome. Emma would have even accepted Killian's presence if it meant getting her out of that conversation.

She jumped up. "I'll get it."

Henry stood on the other side, a much more agreeable distraction until he sniffled and looked up at Emma with red streaks down his face. Her heart leapt into her throat and she reached for him.

"Kid? What happened?" Emma asked. For a wild moment, she had the urge to draw him all the way into her arms. He was still small enough that she could probably pick him up and let him cry on her shoulder as she carried him to the couch. She decided the arm around the shoulder was a safer bet for both of them. "Come on."

She ushered him inside, sharing a look with Mary Margaret who was already bustling about the kitchen. Emma pulled a chair away from the table, crouching down next to Henry as he buried his head on his arms and kept crying. Emma had no idea what to do. Crying kids were not her specialty, unless they were bullies and she was making them cry harder. Though, she mostly stuck to adult bullies these days.

A glass of milk and a plate with two s'mores plunked down in front of Henry. Mary Margaret rubbed his back.

The smell of the chocolate and the marshmallows eventually coaxed his head up, though he only stared at the plate as he scrubbed at his eyes with his sweater.

"So," Emma said, "care to tell me who I'm arresting?"

Henry's eyes went wide. "You can do that?"

"If you want me to," she said, ignoring Mary Margaret's shaking head. "Nobody makes you cry and gets away with it."

Henry fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater. "Archie wants to lock me away."

"Archie, what?" Emma exclaimed

Mary Margaret gasped. "Oh, Henry, I'm sure that's not what he meant."

"He did!" Henry insisted. "Now you think I'm crazy too. You all do." He sprang to his feet, but Emma grabbed his arm.

"Hey, whoa, kid."

Henry glared at her defiantly. "I'm not crazy. I'm not and I can prove it, but nobody will listen."

"I know," Emma said. "I know you're not crazy."

"Then help me," Henry said. "Help me search the mines. My mom is hiding something. I know it."

Mary Margaret grimaced, murmuring an apology as Henry pleaded with Emma.

"I'm sorry, Henry," Emma said. "But we can't go down there. It's too dangerous."

"See, you agree with them."

"About not wanting you to get killed," Emma said. She stood up, placing both her hands on Henry's shoulders. "Look, I know this is important to you and I want to help, but those mines aren't the way to do it. Nothing is worth you getting hurt and you could. What if they collapse again and you get crushed or trapped? What if you get lost?"

Henry looked a little scared as Emma mentioned the risks. She might have felt bad about it, if the idea of something happening to him didn't scare _her_ so much.

"I need you to promise me, Henry," Emma said, "that you won't go looking for proof in the mines. Okay?"

"Okay."

Emma sighed. "Good. Then I promise we'll find another way."

Henry nodded. "Okay."

Emma gave in, pulling him in for a hug. "How about I get you back to your mom and tomorrow, we'll talk about where we go with Operation Cobra?"

Henry nodded again. It was odd, with his nose tickling her, it felt very…personal. They were connected, she and Henry, and it terrified her. She wanted to put distance between them, before she was so connected that leaving would break her, but she didn't know how to do it without hurting him.

 **# # #**

After Henry finished his s'mores, Emma dropped him off at Regina's office in a much better state of mind that when he arrived at Mary Margaret's apartment. Graham had been more than understanding when she explained that she needed a little extra time for lunch, especially when he heard that someone had upset Henry. He didn't offer to arrest anyone, but she heard the same sentiment in the tone of his voice.

It was best that way. Emma didn't want any witnesses for what she was about to do.

She made enough noise banging through the first door and stomping upstairs that Archie had to hear her coming, so she felt no remorse as she pounded on the door.

"Archie!" she shouted. No answer. "Archie!" she tried again, and then thought, _What the hell,_ and tried the handle. The door swung open. She slammed it behind her. "What did you do?" she demanded, weaving around the furniture so she towered over him. "You told me not to take the fantasy away. You told me it would devastate him."

Archie looked up at her with red, watery eyes, a glass tumbler in his hand. "If the therapy stops working, you adjust it."

Emma pulled herself back. There was more here. This wasn't—this couldn't be Archie's doing, not completely.

"Is it her?" she asked. "Did she threaten you? What could be strong enough to drown out your own conscience?"

Archie stood, stepping into her space. "I do not need to defend my professional decisions to you, okay?"

Emma almost said something stupid, like that Henry was her son and he damn well owed her an explanation for Henry ending up on her doorstep with tears in his eyes. Luckily, her phone rang before she gave Archie the opportunity to point out that that Henry was not, in fact, her son.

"Hello, Madam Mayor. Nice work," Emma said, her tone biting.

Regina's voice came over the speaker, cool and clear, the opposite of everything Emma felt right now. "Are you with him?"

"Yes, I'm with Dr. Hopper and guess what? You left your fingerprints all over him when you tried—"

"Not him," Regina snapped. "Henry. Is he with you?"

Something cold coiled in her stomach. "I dropped Henry at your office an hour ago."

"Well, he's not here," Regina said, emotion starting to color her voice.

"I don't know where he is."

Archie's eyes went wide. "Oh…" He shook his head, saying, "I do."

Emma swallowed, realizing that she did too.

"Regina?" she said into the phone. "He's at the mines. We'll meet you there." And she hung up, her hand shaking a little as she slid her phone into her pocket.

Archie stooped, scooping up his umbrella. "Come on, Pongo," he said and his Dalmatian scrabbled up from a bed in a corner, startling Emma as he padded over to Archie.

"My car's across the street at Granny's," Emma said. "Let's go." She ran down the stairs, sprinting across the street, so intent on her destination that she barely noted any of the people sitting at Granny's.

One of them noticed _her_ though.

"Swan?"

She groaned. "Hook, I don't have time, not now."

"I gather that much," Killian said, coming up behind her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm handling it," Emma said.

"I can see that. Anything I can do to help?" Killian watched her, stepping back as Emma opened her door. He hesitated a moment, before circling around to the other side.

For a minute, Emma debated brushing him off. He was already getting way too close to this and Archie knew everything. The last thing she needed was another person putting all of the pieces together, but Henry was missing. Right now, she didn't care what Killian might or might not overhear, he had good instincts and he was one more person to help search.

"Fine," she said, "get in the bug. Archie, you and the mutt are in back."

Killian grimaced. "That's a bit harsh, Swan."

"Shut up," Emma said. "Just be glad that I dislike him more right now or you'd be sharing with the dog."

Archie and Pongo crawled into the back and Killian flipped the seat back, sliding into the passenger seat with a grin. "Just like old times, eh?"

"Not right now, Killian."

She could already see the shrink in the rearview mirror, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. And shit, he had already thought it.

"Old times?"

"Hey," Emma said, throwing the car into drive. "You don't get to talk, I'm still pissed at you. Don't make me madder." She wrenched the car into the street, postponing any questions from either man for a few seconds.

Killian grunted as he was thrown to the side of the car, reaching for the seat belt as soon as he righted himself. "If you don't mind, Swan, I've no desire to lose the other hand in a freak car accident. Now, what seems to be the problem?"

"Henry," Emma started, but that sounded too familiar. Would it make Killian suspicious? This had been a mistake. She cared. She very much cared. And yet… "The mayor's kid. He's run off. Archie here told him he was going to lock him up…"

"It's more complicated than…"

She spun around, prompting an exclamation from Killian. "Did you tell him he had a psychosis?"

Archie's silence answered for him.

"Hook, if he talks again, gag him."

Killian looked surprised at that and Emma had to remind herself once again that she needed more restraint. She didn't feel like restraining herself, but she had to find a way. Killian still had an uncanny knack for reading her emotions.

"We think he's headed to the mines," Emma continued. "Regina's meeting us there. If there's any sign he went in, we might need help searching."

"The sheriff is meeting us there as well, I assume." Killian spoke nonchalantly, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but Emma caught him glancing at her from the corner of his eye. On his knee, his hand clenched, his rings flashing in the sunlight.

Emma suppressed a groan. The list of things she didn't need to deal with was growing it seemed.

"Yeah, probably," she muttered, realizing that she should have called Graham before she left Archie's office. Well, Regina probably had already, so she wouldn't bother to call yet, no need to raise questions about why Regina called her first or why she had been at Archie's office in the first place.

The worst of the wreckage wasn't visible from the road, a slight rise in the terrain masked the crater and the mangled steel jutting from the earth. Emma hit the brakes, drawing an exasperated groan from Killian. He sighed, but any complaint he had was lost under the sound of Emma's door slamming shut. She was already out of the car.

"What would draw the lad out here?" Killian asked, appearing over the top of the car.

Emma shrugged. "Does he need any excuse other than his mom told him no?"

"Ah," Killian said.

"Henry has a very active imagination," Archie said as he clambered out of the bug, Pongo jumping out after and circling Archie, tail wagging. "Like many children his age."

Emma nodded. "Come on, I didn't bring you to chat, let's get looking." Ducking under the police tape, she scrambled down the side of the crater. She didn't see anyone else in the immediate vicinity.

"Henry!" she shouted, hoping he was hiding nearby and would pop out of the bushes or something.

Archie echoed her, Pongo barking and rushing for the collapsed entrance. Archie followed him.

"Henry!"

"I'm going to take a look in the woods," Killian said. "Perhaps he's camped out nearby."

Emma waved him off, more interested in Archie and Pongo at the mine.

"There's no sign of him," she said. "I don't think he's here."

Archie knelt next to the dog. "I think he is." He stood, a colorful rectangle in his hand. The sunlight reflecting from either end prompted Emma to shield her eyes. "Candy bar. He had these with him."

"Okay," Emma said, "then we know he was here."

"We should go after him," Archie said.

"We need to wait for Graham and Regina to get here, get things organized. We're no help to Henry if we get lost trying to find him." Emma swallowed. She wanted to dive straight into that mine, but her brain said be smart about this. She didn't know those mines. Archie probably didn't know those mines. There might not be anyone in the town that knew the mines, but there had to be some kind of record of them. "I'm going to call Graham, maybe he'll know where we can—"

The ground shook under them.

"Henry!" Archie shouted.

Struggling to keep her feet, Emma called after him, "Archie!"

But the man was already ducking inside the mine, despite his dog streaking in the opposite direction. "Henry, it's not safe!"

"Henry!" Her feet slid out from under her as the ground continued to rumble, she scrabbled for the side of the incline, trying desperately not to fall flat on her face. The rocks didn't look like they would be kind to it.

A crack echoed in the air. The wooden lintel splintered, falling in as the rest of the entrance crumbled, closing over the space where Archie had just been standing.

"Archie," Emma called, heart beating up in her throat. Had he gotten in safely? What if the rest of the entrance collapsed? Archie could be buried right under all that rubble. "Archie! Henry!" She sprinted the rest of the distance when the shaking stopped. "Henry!" She pushed at the mound of rubble, bracing her back against one of the metal crossbars and trying to get something to move, anything. The chunks of rock shifted enough that gravel rained down on her head. "Henry!"

"Swan!"

"They're in there," she shouted.

Killian came scrambling into the crater, a wild look on his face. He took one look at her and rushed over, trying to pulling her away, but Emma wrenched her arm away from him, turning to the push against the crossbar.

"They're trapped. Help me!"

"Emma." He didn't shout. He didn't plead. Only said her name softly, watching her with eyes that saw too much.

She didn't have time for this. She spun away from Killian, sprinting back to her car and the phone still sitting in a cupholder. Punching Graham's number in record time, she tapped her foot while the line rang, forcing herself to breath normally.

"Sheriff Humbert."

"Graham," Emma said, "the entrance collapsed. Henry and Archie are trapped inside."

Silence on the other line.

"Graham?"

"I'm almost there," Graham replied. "I'm going to make a few calls. I'll update you when I get there."

"Okay." Emma hung up, trying to get a hold, any hold, on her emotions. She couldn't help anyone if she let fear take over.

Regina's black sedan screeched up next to Emma's car, throwing up dust and gravel. She jumped out, slamming the door.

"Did you find him? Why are you just standing there? Where is he?" She was dressed for a day at the office, her pointy heels sinking deep into the gravel and making her wobble a little as she marched up to Emma. "You said he would be here."

"He is," Emma said, running a hand through her hair. "He's in there with Archie. The entrance collapsed."

"What?" Regina's voice hit a high pitch that carried on long after her mouth closed. It took Emma a moment to realize the long, ululating sound was a siren. Several of them actually. Graham's squad car pulled around the other side of the crater, followed by the fire truck and several other vehicles—some looked like civilian vehicles. Great, another crowd, just what they needed.

"I have Marco and a few others coming with some heavy equipment," Graham said, striding down the incline like it was nothing. His eyes narrowed a moment when he caught sight of Killian, but he continued on until he reached Emma and Regina. "Are we sure he was down there?"

Quickly, Emma explained everything that had happened since their arrival. By the time she finished, Marco and a group of men in hardhats stood surveying the damage from a little further away.

"Finally," Regina said, "someone who will be useful." With one last glare at Emma, Regina stomped toward the new group.

"Are you alright?" Graham asked, drawing a glare from Killian as he stepped close to Emma, ducking his head down so making eye contact was easier.

"I'll be better once this is all over and I can head home," she said.

Graham nodded. "I'm going to go see what they think. I'll be right back." Briefly, he squeezed her shoulder before heading over to Regina's little powwow, leaving Emma with Killian.

"Hey," Emma said, taking advantage of the moment, "what the hell is your problem?"

"Problem? I believe Humbert is the one with the problem," Killian snapped, eyes flashing in Graham's direction.

"No," Emma said, crowding him. "You are if you think any part of my life is your business. Got it?" She waited, watching as Killian clenched his jaw. "I let you come because you wanted to help, Hook. So either you play nice, or you'll spend the rest of the afternoon in back of that car." She jerked her thumb in the direction of the squad car.

Killian turned his eyes back to her, a wicked grin on his face. "That's not exactly incentive for me to behave now is it?"

"I doubt Graham would be gentle."

"Oh, you're no fun, Swan."

"I'm plenty fun when my…friends aren't in danger." Emma held her breath, thanking the powers that be that she caught herself before she said anything incriminating. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Maybe he should know. Maybe he should understand exactly what was at risk. But that was no guarantee that he would care. He left her behind like she was nothing, why did she think he would be any different with a kid? No. This wasn't the time for this. "A kid's life is in danger. You said you wanted to help me, so help me."

Killian's eyes softened. He nodded. "What do you need?"

"I don't know," she said, taking in the scene. There was so much going on, Emma didn't even know where to start. Well, she knew where she wanted to start. She wanted to dig into the earth with her bare hands, but that would get her nowhere. Her eyes glanced from Regina's group to the fire truck to the people gathering in clusters to Pongo, his leash dragging on the ground as he trotted around looking lost.

Killian's eyes followed hers. "I'm on it," he said.

Emma watched as he approached the dog, his hand held out. Pongo, at least, liked Killian, though he was a Dalmatian and they were a friendly breed if she remembered correctly. His tail wagged as Killian scratched him behind the ears before picking up his leash.

"Ruby," Killian called out.

The brunette appeared, shoving her way through the crowd and Killian passed the leash to her, whispering something in her ear. She gave him a simpering smile, prompting an ugly feeling in Emma's gut, but Killian didn't seem to notice Ruby's look. He moved on to the crowd, stopping to speak with an elderly man.

"Well, at least he's making himself useful," Graham said coming up behind her as the small crowd Killian had approached broke up, trudging back to their cars. Killian moved on to the next cluster. "Good call bringing Hook. It seems people listen to him."

"You realize you two are being ridiculous, right?" she said, glaring at him. "I don't appreciate it."

"My apologies," he said. He kicked at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. Tentatively he met her eyes. "I might have accused him of harassing you last night."

"I can take care of myself, Graham," she said, but her stomach did a little flutter at the idea of someone having her back. It had been so long since she'd had someone to count on besides herself.

He chuckled. "That's what he said too."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, well, if he's a problem, I said I'd let you arrest him."

"Oh, that must have disappointed him." He bit his lip, trying to hide the grin playing on his face. "I'll be gentle. Promise."

Emma couldn't help it, despite the situation, despite her worry about Henry, she smiled too. It felt good to have someone on her side, someone helping without expecting anything in return. The whole Henry thing aside, working with him was actually kind of pleasant. Comfortable even.

"So, I think we should start trying to move the rocks," Marco said, coming up behind Graham. "Get a line. See if we can solve this without any heavy equipment. It's less likely to cause another cave in." He gestured with his hands as he spoke, broad sweeping gestures indicating where the line would be.

Emma nodded, looking to Graham. "Sound good?"

"I think that's what we should do, but I told Regina we needed to check with you first."

"I can't imagine she liked that very much." Emma shot a look to where Killian argued with people in the crowd. He already had it down by half. He was different with them, more animated, both his hands—well, hand and hook working together to get his point across. She couldn't remember him doing that with her, like he was hesitant to call attention to the hook with her. Did he think it frightened her? Truth be told, the dangerous looking implement should scare her more than it did, but his presence in her life was the more nerve-wracking of the two.

"Well, I told her I wanted your input before we moved ahead," Graham said. "She's not keen on this idea, thinks it'll take too much time, but Henderson up there thinks a cave in is the greatest danger here."

"Then let's start small and see where it goes from there," Emma said. "No good getting to him if we…" She stopped, the rest of the sentence closing her throat. The image of Henry, crushed beneath a pile of rubble, flashed vividly in her mind. She may never have seen anyone get buried underground, but she'd seen enough violence for her imagination to fill in the blanks. She swallowed.

Graham did that thing again, where he squeezed her shoulder, only this time his hand lingered a little longer, offering support. "We'll get him out, Emma, don't worry." He stepped away quickly, focusing on Marco.

A moment later, she spotted the reason for his change in attitude. Killian watched from the sidelines, nodding when Emma's eyes fell on him, his brow furrowed in an expression she remembered from their time together, his silent way of asking, _Are you alright?_ She nodded once and turned to the line of men stretching away from the blocked entrance.

They dug in quickly. Literally. All it took was a word from Marco and the men were lifting rocks and passing them down the line. The speed they worked with helped Emma breathe a little easier. The faster that pile of rubble grew the sooner she could go after Henry.

Marco caught her watching, coming over with a reassuring smile. "Archie's smart. He will keep the boy safe until we get to them." His words might have soothed Emma's worries even more, but the ground shook beneath them as soon as the words left his mouth. They all stumbled. Marco reached toward the working men. "Watch out!"

"Stop! Stop!" Regina screamed as the men scrambled out of the path of the falling rubble.

Debris rained down from the entrance, the wooden and metal supports shifting.

"You're making it worse!" Regina spat at Emma.

"I am trying to save him!" Emma shouted back, still unintimidated by the glare Regina sent her way. This was not _her_ fault. She wasn't the one trying to convince Henry he was crazy. "You know why he went down there in the first place, don't you?" She crossed her arms, leaning toward Regina, no longer bothering to hide her contempt. "Because you made him feel like he had something to prove."

Regina didn't back down. "And why does he think he has anything to prove? Who's encouraging him?"

"Do not put this on me."

"Oh, please! Lecture me until his oxygen runs out!" Regina's lower lip trembled, tears threatening, though the intensity of her glare never wavered.

Emma knew fear when she saw it.

She knew it, because the same fear lived inside her right now.

What if they were already too late?

Regina spun away from her, but Emma reached out, stopping the older woman before she got far. The soft knit slipped from her fingers as Regina jerked her arm away, the anger back in full force. Emma could still see her fear though.

Emma held up her hands. "We have to stop this. Arguing won't accomplish anything."

Regina took a deep breath, anger falling away. "No, it won't."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Help me."

"Okay," Emma said shoving her hands in her back pockets. "What do you need?"

"We need to find some way to punch through the ground," Regina said, her hand curling around some object visible only to her. An odd gesture. Like she was squeezing something, or crushing it. "We need something big."

"Like what?"

"Explosives," Marco offered from where he stood with Graham.

Both women turned.

"Explosives?" Emma asked. "But wouldn't that put Henry and Archie in even more danger?"

"It might be the only way to get to them," one of the workmen offered. "There's too much rubble."

Regina nodded. "Let's get the lines set then. I want my son out of there now."

On that, Emma agreed.

They dispersed, Marco and the workmen laying the lines for the dynamite. Ruby got up and out of their way, hauling a reluctant Pongo to the fire truck. Leaving Graham with Marco, Emma went to make sure that everyone unnecessary was cleared out. She marched up the slope to the dwindling crowd.

"Alright, everyone," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the consistent murmur of the crowd. They froze, all eyes going to her. "This area isn't safe. So, unless you want to be watching from the back of the squad car, you need to clear out."

That got their attention. A few eyed her warily, considering whether they wanted to test her resolve, Emma glared them down. She wished one of them would try her, maybe get a little violent, give her an excuse to use a little brute force—she certainly felt like punching something right now. After a tense minute, they decided it wasn't worth the effort and trudged away.

A hand landed on her shoulder. "Swan."

Emma jumped, whirling and striking out before she realized it was Killian. His reflexes were quick enough that he managed not to get decked.

"Oh," she said, a little embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Well, your reflexes certainly haven't dimmed in the last ten years." Grinning, he took a step back, hooking is thumb in his belt.

Emma ignored the way that grin made her want to take a step in his direction.

Killian toned down the smile somewhat. "What's happening?"

"We're going to try blasting through the rubble," Emma said, ducking back underneath the yellow police tape. "You." She pointed to someone loitering at the edge of the crater, he wore a hard hat which pegged him as part of the work crew. "If you're not doing something get behind the tape."

"And Madam Mayor isn't worried we'll cause the entire area to collapse?"

Emma ground her teeth together. "She thinks it's worth the risk. Now get out of the way, Hook."

"Of course," Killian said, heading over to the fire truck and ducking behind it with Ruby and a few of the others.

Emma hiked up to where Regina and Graham stood by a pick-up truck. At the top, she turned, hands on her hips as she surveyed the crater. The last man was climbing up next to his fellows.

"Okay. We're all clear," Emma said the minute the man ducked inside the yellow tape. She hunkered behind the truck.

Regina stared at the rubble, like she could knock it out of her way with a Jedi mind trick, before stepping closer to Emma. "Blow it."

They all crouched behind the truck. Emma held her breath as the foreman punch the detonator. A terrific boom rattled through the air and the ground shook for the third time that day. Emma caught herself right before she bashed her head against the bumper of the truck, the shining metal smooth beneath her hand. She righted herself, sliding under the tape as soon as she had her feet back under her and pelting down the hill, straight into the cloud of dust still surrounding the entrance.

She waved ineffectually at the dust, peering through the debris and hoping she didn't accidentally impale herself on one of the remaining supports. The dust settled a little, allowing Emma to see the darker objects. She grabbed onto one of the metal crossbars, her other hand held in front of her tentatively.

Rough stone met her palm.

She explored a little further, but she could see well enough by now to know that the dynamite had simply made smaller rocks.

Regina's voice greeted her as she exited the cloud of dust. "Did it work?"

"It didn't open," Emma said, fighting down the panic.

"Then what did it do?" Graham asked.

Regina spun, arms pumping as she bore down on the poor contractor. "What was that? What the hell was that?" she demanded, her voice harsh and grating. She looked ready to deck Marco. "You said you could do this!"

Emma grabbed her arm. "Madam Mayor!"

"They could have killed my son!" Regina screamed.

And that was the worst part, wasn't it? They didn't know. They didn't know if Henry and Archie were still alive down there. For all they knew, Archie could be buried under that rubble. Henry could have suffocated long ago.

"I know," Emma said, not bothering to hide her own pain anymore. "But this isn't helping."

Regina breathed out, half a sigh, half a sob, leaning against the truck's tailgate. Graham came over, his hand going to Regina's back.

"If we knew exactly where they were," Marco began, though Regina didn't appear to be listening, she had her face in her hands, taking deep breaths. "We could drill down to them. Maybe… Maybe rig something to bring them back up."

"But drill where?" Graham asked.

Emma spied Pongo in the fire truck, scratching at the window. Running over, she yanked the door open. "Come on, buddy!"

Pongo ran past the group, interrupting the conference session.

"It's Archie's dog," she said, her heart fluttering when Pongo stopped and scratched at the ground, his whining growing louder. "He's found something. Look! This is where they must be." She grabbed Pongo's collar as the guys knelt down, scraping away several layers of leaves, revealing dull metal underneath the thick, brown muck. "What is it?"

Graham felt around in the leaves, his fingers finding purchase on something. He gestured to Marco, digging in and pulling. There was a scrape as Marco joined him, the something Graham found turning into a large, dirt covered rectangle as they hauled it to the side. Pongo jumped, nearly dragging Emma down as he lunged for the rusty grate, her grip on his collar tightened and she pulled him back, keeping him out of Graham and Marco's way.

"I've got him," a soft voice at her side said, ringed fingers closing over the collar right next to hers.

Emma jerked her hand away. "Thanks," she said hurriedly, trying to act like Killian's fingers brushing hers hadn't brought all sorts of feelings she did not want to dwell on. Not now. Probably not ever if she could help it. Ignoring the hurt look on Killian's face—because she was not some lovesick romcom heroine whose fingers had just been burned by the touch of her one true love—Emma leaned over the opening in the ground, peering into the yawning black beneath the grate.

"It's an air shaft," Graham said.

Emma knelt next to him, her fingers sending little flakes of rusted metal spinning into the shaft. She could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. This was their way in.

"Marco," she began.

The older man bent down, tugging at the grate briefly. "Yes, it could work." Standing, his eyes searched the crowded, skipping over Killian as he coaxed Pongo back into the fire truck and landing on Ruby, who leaned against the hood twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Ruby, we need Billy's truck."

She grinned. "On it." And she bounded to a cluster of workers, one of whom Emma recognized. The young man who worked for the tow company.

They had a brief conversation and the next thing Emma knew, Billy was signaling Ruby as she back the truck up to the grate. She clearly had done this before, because she responded to every change with quick reflexes, backing the truck to the exact spot Billy indicated without incident. Marco and Billy grabbed the arm mounted on the back of the truck, swinging it out over the grate. Heavy, iron hook in hand, Marco bent down, attaching it to the grate and Graham got ready with a crowbar. The older man looked up at Emma, nodding.

"Okay. Alright—gun it," Emma said.

Ruby did, the engine revving as it fought against the resistance of the grate. The engine won, the grate coming free with a deep, metallic snap as the rusted bolts gave way.

"That's good!" Emma said, her hand coming up. "Alright, we got it. Alright."

The boys circled around, lifting it and laying it carefully on the grass next to the truck. Regina joined Emma and Graham, leaning over to stare down into the seemingly bottomless shaft. Hard, packed earth stretched as far down as Emma could see, metal supports breaking up the smooth cut surface every ten feet or so until it faded into darkness. Just looking into the hole made her slightly dizzy.

"So, what's next?" Regina asked.

"We use this," Marco said, brandishing the hook he detached from the grate only moments ago. He pulled on the cable, demonstrating as he spoke. "You need to lower someone straight down, or the line will collapse the side of the shaft."

Graham nodded. "I've got a harness."

Regina turned to him. "Lower me down."

"Oh, no way," Emma said. "I'm going."

Regina had the audacity to look offended. "He's my son."

Normally, Regina's response might have angered her, but Emma couldn't find it in herself to react as she normally would. Looking in Regina's eyes, she saw the same worries running in loops inside her own head. She knew why Regina wanted to do this and she knew why Regina couldn't.

"He's my son, too," Emma said softly, oblivious to the crowd, oblivious to anyone and anything except convincing Regina that for once, she was Henry's best chance. "You've been sitting behind a desk for ten years. I can do this."

Regina stepped toward her and Emma braced herself for a blow, but Regina's mask fell at the last moment as she said, "Just bring him to me."

Emma nodded, stepping away with Graham, the knowledge of what she'd just said still sinking in. It was strange, after all these weeks worrying about admitting it and making it real, Emma couldn't understand why she was so afraid before. Finally saying the words didn't make it any more real—It was already real—Henry was her son and nothing could ever change that, but she did feel lighter.

That only lasted for a moment. She froze, her jacket half off, and scanned the crowd, heart pounding inside her chest.

"Don't worry," Graham said, his voice soft. He nodded to Emma's left, where Killian stood chatting yards away from the tow truck, looking nothing like someone should when their ex dropped the biggest news of their life on them. "Your secret is safe."

Emma sighed, panic loosing its hold on her.

"Are you sure this is worth it?" Graham asked.

"What?"

"Not this," Graham said, jangling the harness. "That." He jerked his chin over to where Killian stood. "You should tell him, Emma, before he hears it from someone else."

"I will," Emma said, taking the harness from him and stepping in. "When he's earned it."

Graham scoffed, but he shut his mouth quickly when Killian took notice of what they were doing. Emma turned away from him, accepting Graham's help climbing into the harness, studiously ignoring Killian's footsteps until they paused behind her.

"I take it you're going after the lad?" Killian said.

Emma found him standing behind her, her jacket in his hand. He shook it, dislodging the dirt that clung to it.

"Yes," Emma said.

Killian nodded, folding the jacket over his arm. He reached out, but thought better of it, his hand falling to his side. "Be careful, Swan."

Emma stepped away, unable to handle the way he was looking at her, not here, not now. She had to think of Henry and only Henry, he was counting on her to fix this. She nodded, signaling that she was ready and Marco wenched her up. Feeling absolutely ridiculous, Emma swung above the opening as they adjusted the crane, positioning her so she was perfectly in the center.

"Careful," Graham said as he held her steady.

Emma swallowed, making him her focus as they lowered into the darkness. She didn't look down.

 _I'm coming, Henry,_ she thought. _Just hang on._

# # #

Something was going on with Emma.

This was more than just a job to her, that much was clear in the almost fanatical way she headed the search for Henry. The boy meant something to her, had gotten under her skin with that cheeky grin and never-ending optimism of his. Killian found he regretted not getting better acquainted with this lad who seemed he brightened the lives of everyone around him. Just as Emma had done for Killian all those years ago.

No, perhaps her attachment to the boy wasn't so strange after all.

It didn't make him feel any easier about lowering Emma into that long, dark hole. Fear shone in her eyes plain as day as she trained them on the sheriff. Killian was too nervous to be jealous and too aware of the fact that he'd lost the right to have her look at him that way anyway. They all watched her disappear into the darkness, the tension in the air pressing up against them as she was swallowed by darkness. Killian's stomach swooped to his toes when the bright blonde of her hair finally winked out.

Graham pressed a button on the device in his hand. "Emma? Anything yet?"

"Not yet, Graham." Her voice crackled and skipped over the speaker.

Killian leaned over again, eyes straining even though he knew she was too far down for him to see her.

The device beeped again and her voice came through again. "Don't worry, you'll know if I find something."

"But not if you plummet to your death," Killian muttered.

Graham glanced over, searching Killian's face. Killian held his gaze, refusing to back down and whatever the sheriff saw passed muster because he only nodded.

The crank behind him kept turning, lowering Emma deeper and deeper at an aching pace. Killian clenched his fist, reminding himself to breathe as the silence stretched taut as the cable that held Emma. The same tension radiated from the sheriff, his fingers wrapped so tightly around the radio, Killian though the plastic might crack.

The radio crackled again. "Okay, that's good. Stop," came Emma's voice.

Graham signaled for Billy to cut off the crane.

Regina's head shot up. "She has him? She found him?" Gravel crunched as Regina ran up next to Graham, arms pumping.

"Hold on, Regina…"

"Hold on?"

A dull squeal sounded from inside the shaft. Another louder one sounded, drifting up to them laced with the sound of shouts. Killian felt his heart stop. Regina let out a strangled gasp.

"Emma?" Graham tried over the radio. "Emma, are you alright?"

Silence.

"Emma?" Graham tried again before Killian could rip the bloody thing out of his hand.

"This button?" came a young voice, slightly muffled as though far away.

"Oh." Regina bent over, hands on her knees. Graham placed a hand on her back, a look of relief on his face as well.

"Yeah, kid, just hold that down." Emma's voice.

Killian's world started turning again.

"It's okay," Emma said. "I've got them both, but we're going to need another rope."

Her explanation was quick. Archie and Henry had been trapped in an elevator. The elevator fell after Emma retrieved Henry and Archie was hanging on by some sort of clip hanging from Emma's harness. The rope was lowered quickly and Emma radioed up that they were good for retrieval a moment later. Regina fell back as they crowded around the hole, letting the team do its work. Killian knew he should probably step back with her, but he couldn't. He needed to see Emma safe again. Needed to be there to lend a hand if necessary. Surprisingly, Graham didn't drive him off.

After what seemed like an eternity, Emma came into view. She looked up at them, a grin on her face, her arms wrapped around the boy. Even in the gloom of the air shaft, her face was radiant.

"There she is," he breathed.

Time returned to its normal flow for a moment, but the bustle took over again the moment her shoulders cleared the hole. Both Graham and Killian reached out, grabbing for Emma, ready to haul her out and back onto solid ground.

"Get Henry," she said. "Get Henry."

Killian reacted without thought. Henry twisted as Killian carefully lifted the lad from Emma's arms, latching onto him and leaving her free to clamber out herself. The terrified boy clung to him for a moment after Killian set him on his feet.

"Steady, lad."

Regina rushed in, pulling Henry close, brushing the hair from his eyes, her fingers tracing over the patches of dirt on one cheek and above his eyebrow. Killian watched for a moment. Say what you liked about the Evil Queen, it was clear she loved her son. Perhaps she had discovered a purpose outside of her revenge, something to fulfill her and help keep the demons away.

Part of Killian was jealous.

A greater part recoiled at the idea of releasing his revenge. The Crocodile was no innocent victim, he had to be held to account for killing Milah.

But when he turned his attention back to Emma and the relief of seeing her with two feet on solid ground came again, Killian wasn't sure finding a new purpose sounded like such a bad idea.

Emma twisted, reaching for the large, metal hook clipped to the back of her harness, still a little unsteady as she leaned on Graham. The sheriff rolled his eyes and told her to hold still, managing to unclip her despite the fact that she barely listened. She brushed past Killian without even seeing him, kicking up dust as she ran up to where Regina still smiled over Henry.

Emma leaned down, her hand on the boy's arm. "You okay?" The smile on her face incandescent, rivaling that of the lad's mother.

"Deputy," Regina said, tight-lipped, her mouth barely moving as she spoke. "You can clear the crowd away." Brushing off Emma's hand, Regina led her son away from the crater, squeezing him tightly with the arm wrapped around his shoulders. Henry hitched his backpack a little higher and leaned into his mother's embrace.

Emma watched them go, shoulders hunched, her hands dangling at her sides.

"You okay?" Killian asked. He caught a glimpse of a hurt, hollow expression before something tighter replaced it.

"Yeah," she said, slapping her gloves against her thigh. "I'm just glad he's okay."

Killian nodded. "Aye, I've noticed you're attached to the lad."

"Listen, Killian, I can explain…" she started.

"Explain?" Killian said. "What would there be to explain?"

Emma wrung her gloves in her hands, biting her lip and refusing to meet his eyes. "I know it's odd, a grown woman hanging out with a kid…"

"Not really."

"Not…really?" she asked, eyebrows shooting up.

"I know he was adopted."

Even with her newer, tougher shell the word had the same effect as a physical blow on Emma, as all the pain and anger and fear from her past surfaced. He almost wished he hadn't brought it up. Whatever had happened in the last ten years clearly had delved deep into all the old wounds. He shied from reading her emotions further, afraid to uncover the scar he left—unready to face that just yet.

"You have quite a bit in common, I imagine," Killian said quickly. "It's no surprise you're drawn to each other."

Emma let out a harsh laugh, the tension draining from her. "Yeah. Yeah, we do have a lot in common." It sounded like a dismissal, but Emma didn't move, just stood watching him with a contemplative expression on her face. Whatever answer she came up with, she didn't share. "Well, you heard the mayor. I've got a job to do."

Killian almost reached out and made her stay, confident that if he pressed just a little harder she'd unburden her secret. But he meant what he said yesterday. So, he let her turn away and bear down on the unsuspecting bystanders as she stuffed her gloves savagely into her back pocket.

"Right then," Killian said, turning back to find Graham.

The man in question was leaning against the side of Billy's truck, discussing something with the young man sitting in the driver's seat. He hit his knuckle against the door— _tap tap tap_ —as he talked. With a sigh, Killian climbed up the slight embankment, the rotting leaves crunching beneath his boots.

"If there's nothing else I can do to help, I think I'd best go," Killian said.

Graham tilted his head. "You're free to go," he said. "And Hook," he called when Killian turned away. "Thanks for your help."

Killian nodded. He cast one last glance over to where Emma was arguing with someone that clearly wanted to stay and watch. Emma uncrossed her arms, planting her hands on her hips and speaking low and quick, her words ending the argument. With a defiant glare, the interloper trudged off, hands stuffed in their pockets. With a small smile, Killian decided against bothering Emma. He doubted she wanted a goodbye.

"Hey, Hook." Henry trotted up, a bright grin stretched across his face, the ordeal obviously far from his thoughts.

"Hello, Henry," Killian said as the lad fell into step with him.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, seeing as you are no longer lost, I am going home."

"You're not in my book," the boy said without preamble.

Killian stopped. "I'm sorry, what book?"

"My storybook," Henry said. He swung his backpack off his shoulder, flipping the top open and revealing the spine of a leather-bound book. "I've read through this thing a dozen times and there's no mention of you."

"Perhaps you simply don't recognize me," Killian said. "Perhaps I was a different person in this storybook."

Henry paused, looking up at Killian with a wary expression. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Of course not, Henry."

He shrugged. "You're the only one I can't figure out…well, you and Mr. Gold."

Killian drew in a sharp breath, his hand clamping down on the boy's shoulder. "Gold isn't anyone you want to be messing with, Henry."

Regardless of whether or not the Crocodile had his memories, Killian didn't want to know what would happen if the lad stumbled onto Rumpelstiltskin's true identity. Especially not if Emma was attached to him. It was bad enough that she owed the Crocodile a favor, he didn't want to think about what would happen if she went head to head with him because Henry crossed him. Not that any of it would matter soon enough. Emma would break the curse. Killian would have his revenge. And the Crocodile would never be able to harm anyone ever again.

"Listen to me, Henry," he said, leaning down and look the boy in the eyes. "Gold isn't someone you want to cross, do you understand? The people who do…well, let's just say there aren't many of them left." Only one as far as he knew.

"Geez, okay," he said. "You're as bad as Emma."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," Henry kicked at the ground. "She told me the mines were dangerous."

Killian chuckled. "And she was right, wasn't she?"

Henry glared at him. "Yes."

"There you have it, lad," Killian said, clapping Henry on the back. A bit too gustily, it seemed, because the lad let out a soft oof. "Emma's a smart lass. You should listen to her."

"I just wanted to prove this was all real," Henry said, his voice very small.

Regina came up then. "Henry, you have five minutes before we leave. Say your goodbyes please." She brushed her thumb across his cheek, a gesture he'd submitted to without complaint only an hour ago. Now though he ducked out of his mother's reach, making a beeline for Emma. The woman watched for a moment, her face pinched before turning to Killian. She gave him a look that he was used to, one he'd gotten from many women in many places, a look that disappeared when she caught sight of the curved metal hook at the end of Killian's left arm.

If Killian didn't know better, he'd say she knew of him. The real him.

"I don't believe we've met, Mr—?" She arched one eyebrow, letting the word hang in the air.

"Jones," Killian said, accepting her proffered hand and giving it one business-like pump. It wasn't his preferred way of greeting a lady, evil or no. "Though, most people call me Hook."

"Ah," Regina said. "Have you been in Storybrooke long? I don't recall having seen you."

"We've run across each other once or twice, Madam Mayor," Killian said carefully. "I mostly keep to myself." He shrugged. "I can't rightly say how long I've been in Storybrooke. It's been quite a while since I came."

Regina relaxed. "Well, Graham said you jumped right in to help, so thank you."

"Of course," Killian said. "I don't think there's a person in this town that didn't want to see him safely home."

Regina smiled. "Well, thank you, anyways. Have a good night, Mr. Jones."

"And a good night to you, Madam Mayor." He threw a loose salute as he left, heading for the road back into town. The sky was already coloring at the horizon, not that darkness would be any trouble for him, he spent many a sleepless night exploring Storybrooke, but he didn't fancy walking home when the sun went down and the temperature plummeted.

# # #

"Mom says we're leaving in five minutes," Henry said as he ran up to Emma. "Which means we've got at least thirty." His little hands were wrapped around the straps of his backpack. He bounced on his heels.

He was so innocent and bright-eyed as he looked up at her, not trace in his gaze of the fact that he nearly plummeted to his death. Emma swallowed, trying to block out the echo of the shrieking elevator as it fell. What if she hadn't gotten there in time? She might have lost him. Without warning Emma grabbed Henry, hugging him tight.

"You okay, kid?" she asked.

Henry nodded. "Yeah." He crouched, letting his legs dangle over the small rise. "Do you know that guy that was helping? The one that grabbed me."

"Uh, yeah," Emma said, sitting down next to him. "He was helping."

"I realized something about him," Henry said. He undid the latch of his bookbag with a metallic snick and pulled out the storybook. "He's not in the book. I've looked everywhere for Captain Hook, but he's not in here."

"Oh, kid," Emma said, placing her hand over his before he could flip the book open. "I don't think I'm up for any Operation Cobra, right now. Okay?"

Henry bit his lip, looking a little disappointed, but he shrugged and slipped the book into his bag as easily as he had taken it out. "Okay. But I think he knows who Mr. Gold is, maybe they're connected."

Emma opened her mouth to tell Henry that was impossible. Killian hadn't come over in any curse. He came over on a plane and then he traveled across the country to get here. However, that would mean admitting that she knew Killian all those years ago and that would raise questions she didn't want to answer.

So instead, she pointed to Archie and Marco, laughing together like this was any other night in Storybrooke. "Is that Archie's father?"

"No," Henry said, "they're just old friends." He looked like there was more he wanted to say and Emma found she was genuinely curious who Henry thought Marco was. Pinocchio, probably, since he believed Archie was Jiminy Cricket.

But she didn't ask. She had had enough trouble with that book for one day.

Emma took her son's hand, wrapping his fingers in hers. "You really scared me."

"I'm sorry." He looked contrite for once.

A stick cracked as Archie and Marco approached Emma and Henry, looking like they meant to talk, but Emma still hadn't forgiven Archie for his part in sending Henry down to those mines. She might have no say in whether or not Henry continued to see the psychiatrist, but she didn't have to like him

"Gentlemen," she said, clearing her throat. She turned to Henry. "Well, come on. Your mom wants to take you home." She shifted, ready to get back to her feet when she heard them. At first, she thought she imagined it, but Henry perked up.

"Hey! Listen."

Archie nodded, a slow smile spreading on his face. "Crickets."

"They're back," Henry said. His smile started out cautious, but then it broke into a full grin. "Things are changing."

Emma listened as the chirping filled the night and she wondered how she had missed its absence. A niggling little voice in the back of her mind said, _Maybe Henry's right_. She slammed the lid on that idea real fast. That was ridiculous. It just hadn't been the season for crickets before now and dark had just fallen, a coincidence, that's all it was.

"Come on, kid, you can listen to the crickets just as well from home." She pulled her feet up under her, standing and offering a hand to her son. He hugged her again before running off in the direction of his mom, who stood with an impatient look on her face.

"Ms. Swan," Archie said before she could walk away.

"Yeah?" She hooked her thumbs on her belt, staring down at Archie.

He didn't even flinch. "I thought you might like to know, Regina and I have come to an understanding regarding Henry's therapy." He clutched his umbrella in front of him, the metal spines making little scratching sounds as he twisted his hands. "I will resume treating Henry according to my own methods, without any further pressure from her."

"Really?"

Archie nodded. "I have to do what my conscience tells me."

Emma swallowed, not liking how hard the words hit. "Yeah, I guess that would be best." She started to walk away, but then she remembered something. "Um, am I your ride back into town?"

"No," Marco said in his gruff, accented voice. "I'll take Archie home tonight. After we've had a bite to eat perhaps."

"I am famished," Archie put in as Marco put an arm around his shoulders. The two walked off, murmuring in low voices.

After making sure Graham didn't need her any more, Emma retreated, sliding back into the bug and cranking the ignition. Tonight, that gesture held more memories than she cared to admit. The engine sputtered to life with a little cough at the beginning before smoothing out into a modest purr. Not the newest car, but despite its protestations, a reliable little thing.

She didn't drive down to the docks. The only thing brighter and more conspicuous than her bug was a BIC highlighter. Fine when you were just a normal Joe, blending into a busy city. Not so good in a small town when someone was familiar with the car. She parked around the corner and walked the rest of the way, checking over her shoulder every few minutes, jumpy enough for downtown Boston at 2 a.m, not 7 p.m. in a small town.

Graham was right. She had to tell him eventually. She knew that. Not because he deserved to know. But he would hear about it sooner or later. Someone would mention her real connection to Henry and he was a smart guy, he would figure the rest out quickly enough. She almost spilled the beans back at the crater, she thought he had picked up on how worried she was or heard something from one of the others, and she had her courage all screwed up to tell him, to explain. And then, he gave her an out and she dove for it, grasping with both hands.

She wasn't sure why she was so desperate to hide the truth.

It was fact. Killian was Henry's father. Denying it didn't change it.

 _But he'll hurt him_ , rang in the back of her mind.

Just as quickly, an equally quiet voice asked, _Hurt him? Or hurt you?_

Emma swallowed, her eyes scanning the dark marina. Graham said Killian lived down here, but Emma now realized that could mean almost anything. Had he holed up in one of the warehouses at the docks? Or was he living on one of the ships floating in the water?

This was a terrible idea.

The soft lap of the water echoed all around her, the boats creaking as they rose and feel gently. It was a soothing place. Somewhere she could suddenly see herself spending a lot of time…if her ex hadn't lived nearby, of course.

With a sigh, Emma turned back toward Main Street, finally admitting why she parked out of sight.

"Swan?"

Emma sighed. Naturally.

"Hook," she said, turning slowly on her heel.

Killian strode casually toward her, the streetlights glinting off his rings and hook.

"What brings you down my way this late at night?" he asked, a smirk on his lips. He stopped a few feet from her, doing that stupid thing where he hooked his thumb through his belt loop. "Not looking for me, I imagine."

"Uh…actually, I was…sort of," Emma said before she thought better of it. She regretted the words immediately. The smirk broadened to a full-blown grin, his eyes lighting up with something that looked a lot like hope.

Killian took a step closer. "Sort of?"

"Yeah."

"And yet I found you running away? Cold feet, Swan?"

Emma scoffed. "What? No." She crossed her arms, glaring at him so belligerently that he took a half step back, the smile faltering a little. "Graham said you lived down here, but I realized I didn't know where. I figured it could wait until tomorrow."

"What could wait?" he asked, eyebrows scrunching together.

The night air pressed in around them, so thick breathing felt difficult.

"With all the hustle and bustle, I, uh…there was something I didn't get to tell you."

Killian's expression grew even more puzzled. "Tell me what?"

And there it was. This was it. This was the moment.

Wasn't it?

Emma took a deep breath, cringing at the words rising to her tongue even as she spoke them. "I just wanted to thank you. For helping us out. You didn't have to, so uh, we owe you."

Killian tilted his head, considering her words for a moment. "Anytime, Emma," he said softly. "And I think we already settled that it is I who owe you." He smiled again, a softer, more intimate smile, all of the bluster gone. A smile that made Emma nervous. Killian ducked his head, scratching behind his ear before pointing toward the ships. "That one is mine," he said, as though it was clear which of those boats he meant. "The, um…the _Miss Guided_."

"Really?" Emma snorted. "Is that a pun?"

Killian rolled his eyes. "Not my choice of name." He acted offended for a moment, before breaking out in that soft grin. "Anyways, if Storybrooke's sheriff department ever finds itself in need of an extra hand, now you know where to find me."

Emma almost commented on his unintentional joke, but decided against it. That felt too much like the old days, when Killian was he only person she felt safe with. So she just nodded, stuffing her hands in her back pockets.

"Yeah, I'll mention that to Graham."

Killian recognized the dismissal, stepping away and striding in the direction he claimed his boat lay in. She watched for a minute, her heart beating hard against her ribs as she struggled against the truth. The truth lost and Emma turned away, heading back toward her bug.


	9. Chapter 9

_November 2011_

"So, how was work today?"

Emma paused by the door, a little startled by Mary Margaret's question. The idea of sharing a home with someone—hell, the idea of having a home in the first place—still felt foreign and she often found herself taken aback by Mary Margaret's presence. Making coffee before work. Loading the dishwasher after Emma went upstairs. Or getting up to use the bathroom and get a glass of water in the middle of the night. She'd get used to it eventually, she supposed. If she stuck around long enough. Emma never thought too hard about that, because if she did, she would have to face the fact that for once in her life the idea of running hurt more than the idea of staying. And that scared the hell out of her.

Emma closed the door, leaning against the wall as she undid the zipper on her boots.

"Fine," she said. And then, because it was clearly the kind of thing roommates did, she asked, "How was the hospital?"

"Oh, I resigned last week," Mary Margaret said, suddenly very interested in the birdhouse she was finishing. She twisted the eye screw, her tongue caught between her teeth in false concentration.

A better person—someone who knew people better than Emma did—might have asked Mary Margaret why she resigned, even though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. A better roommate would know what to do to help Mary Margaret deal with…whatever she was dealing with. But Emma didn't have comforting advice to give. She didn't have any stories to prove it would get better, only stories proving things got worse.

She shrugged out of her jacket, switching the bag of food she'd picked up at Granny's from hand to hand.

"I got dinner," Emma said. "As promised."

"Hmm," Mary Margaret said, still feigning complete focus as she turned the eyelet one last time. "There, now it's ready." She held the little birdhouse at arm's length, taking in her handiwork. She turned to Emma with a grin. "Care to help me hang this after dinner?"

Emma shrugged. "Sure."

"Is that grilled cheese I smell," Mary Margaret asked, raising a disapproving eyebrow. "Really, Emma, do you even know what a vegetable is?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yes, _Mom_ , I know what vegetables are. They're those gross things you insist on feeding me all the other nights of the week." She set the bag on the table, the paper rough against her fingers as she reached in for the two Styrofoam containers.

"You, young lady," Mary Margaret said with mock severity, "are going to die of a heart attack before you're forty if you keep eating like this."

"Only if I move out. And as good as your cooking is, I think you're stuck with me," Emma joked. She handed Mary Margaret her food. "Don't worry, I got you a burger."

"That's not much better than grilled cheese."

"It has lettuce and tomatoes and onions."

"Oh my." Mary Margaret shook her head, but accepted the food. Despite her complaints, she flipped the container open and popped a fry into her mouth.

A familiar rap sounded at the door.

Emma groaned. She was so not up to this after a long day at work.

Before she could reply, the doorknob turned and Henry's head popped in. "Do I smell onion rings?"

Emma sighed and held one out.

Henry tromped over, dumping his back pack by the table's leg, and took the onion ring, chomping down on it like his mother never fed him. Which, Emma happened to know, she did. Very well. He was always complaining about some healthy thing or other that Regina insisted was good for him. And they ran into each other at Granny's even when Operation Cobra business was slim. Which it had been since the incident with the mines. Much to Emma's relief. As much as she l—enjoyed spending time with her kid, she also enjoyed the reprieve from the fairytale obsession.

She had a feeling that was all over now.

Henry leaned in and confiscated half of her grilled cheese without asking.

"You'd better plan on eating whatever it is Regina's feeding you tonight," Emma said, "because if she comes after me about sabotaging your dinner, I will plead the fifth."

"We're eating at the party," Henry said.

"Party?" she asked, sharing a look with Mary Margaret across the table. To Emma's surprise, she didn't seem intrigued by the information. "What party?"

"The one I'm supposed to invite you to," Henry said, his words slightly garbled by cheese.

Emma snatched the remaining half of the sandwich, taking a big bite before Henry could lay claim. She glanced at Mary Margaret again, trying to see if the teacher knew anything. Her roommate's face was a study in careful neutrality, if Emma didn't know any better, she'd say Mary Margaret was trying to bluff her way past a bad poker hand.

"I repeat," Emma said, "what party?"

Henry swallowed and reached for an onion ring. Emma slapped his hand away.

"Hey, this is my dinner, not yours. I don't have eggplant lasagna or whatever waiting at home."

Both Henry and Mary Margaret made a face.

"Now that is a crime," Mary Margaret said and she pushed the rest of her fries toward Henry.

Begrudgingly, Emma transferred another couple of onion rings in the container as well. "So tell me about this party…" She leaned in. "It's not one your mom is throwing is it? Cause if there's eggplant lasagna, you're on your own kid."

Henry rolled his eyes. "My mom's helping Mrs. Nolan throw a coming home party for Mr. Nolan and she—Mrs. Nolan, not my mom—wanted to make sure you guys knew. Since you helped find him and all."

"Okay," Emma said. "When is it?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yep, at seven."

Emma looked up at the clock. It was five thirty. "Gee, kid, it's awful late notice and I have to work tomorrow…"

"Please," Henry pleaded, turning on the puppy dog eye routine and damn it if that didn't put a great big dent in Emma's resolve. "It's going to be all adults. And they're boring."

"Hey, I'm one of those adults," Emma protested.

Henry kept staring at her with those puppy dog eyes, begging without saying a word.

"Fine," Emma relented without malice. The truth was she missed Henry. Between work and Regina's meddling, the only real time Emma got with Henry was their walk from Granny's to the bus stop in the mornings. "I'll be there."

"Great," Henry said, bouncing a little as he turned on Mary Margaret. "You'll come too, right?"

Mary Margaret, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet through the exchange, started picking at the fries left in front of Henry with renewed interested.

"I really shouldn't," Mary Margaret said softly.

"Ms. Blanchard you _have_ to come."

"No," Mary Margaret said, standing quickly, grabbing the napkins and Styrofoam containers and paper bag. "No, I don't have to come." She pulled out a voice that was instantly recognizable as her Teacher Voice. "What I have to do is finish this month's lesson plan." She shrugged. "Maybe if I knew earlier, but oh well."

"But…"

"Hey," Emma said. "Isn't your mom going to start missing you soon?"

Henry made a face. "She dropped me off at home, she's coming back to pick me up around six."

"Well, then," Emma said, "it's getting awfully close to six."

"It's only…"

"Henry, home, now. I'll see you at the party, okay?"

Henry sighed, nodding. "Okay." He leaned closer to Emma. "See if you can't change her mind. She's totally lying about the lesson plan thing. She spends the last weekend of every month planning at Granny's."

"Maybe she's running behind," Emma whispered back as she ushered him out the door. She gave him a gentle shove, waving as he tromped down the stairs. As soon as she shut the door. "He was right about the lying thing."

Mary Margaret snorted. "Right. Your superpower."

"No," Emma said, hands on her hips. "I know you finished because you told me last night."

Mary Margaret sighed. "It's been a long day, Emma, that's all." She offered a tired smile. "Not that Henry would understand, but I just want to sit at home with a cup of tea and a good book." She glanced back into the kitchen. "And maybe tidy up a little."

If Emma was a better roommate—and better with people—she might have pushed Mary Margaret. But the thing was, she had a feeling she knew why Mary Margaret was avoiding the party and why she quit volunteering at the hospital. And in Mary Margaret's shoes, she would want to be left alone. Emma Swan didn't need to talk her issues out with anyone. And, of course, neither did Mary Margaret. She just needed time to figure things out for herself.

So Emma decided to give her space for now. Poking at the problem might only make it worse.

# # #

The instant Emma entered the Nolan's house, Henry grabbed her hand and hauled her into a hallway. Not that Emma complained. She didn't see David or Kathryn and the only other person she recognized off the bat were Regina and Doctor Whale. There was no Marco or Graham or Archie.

Or Killian.

She figured that out right away. Over the last week, Emma had developed a habit of scanning for him any time and every time a door opened. Sometimes he was there. Sometimes he wasn't. They had run into each other a half dozen times at Granny's. Each time, he greeted her with a smile and when time permitted he would ask a polite question, but he was true to his word. He didn't force his presence on her. She wanted to trust that, wanted to stop tensing at the thought of running into him, but she couldn't thinking that the next time would be the time he stopped her and asked the one question she didn't want to answer.

Her initial scan revealed no Killian and she gave herself permission to relax, plopping down next to Henry on a cushioned bench. Leaning against the staircase, she joined her son as he watched people mill about in the next room. Henry had chosen well. They had a great view into the room and anyone who came in the door had to pass by their doorway.

They couldn't have missed David's entrance if they tried.

The door opened and his nervous face was the first one through the door, his wife close behind him.

He looked different in jeans and his navy jacket, a leather duffel in his hand. Until now, Emma hadn't realized how frail he had looked in the hospital gown. Now, he gave off the air of someone used to hard work in a grey tank with a blue button down hanging open under his jacket. Kathryn wore a patterned dress, her golden hair swept back at one side to highlight her pretty cheekbones. The clack of Regina's footsteps from the kitchen drowned out the soft shush of David's boots on the carpet.

He flashed a tentative smile at Emma and Henry as he passed them on his way to the next room.

Everyone cheered and applause broke out. Kathryn jumped into introductions immediately and David followed along, reaching out perfunctorily to shake hands.

As he ventured into the main room, Emma waited for Regina to snap at Henry, but the woman just nodded as she spun on her heel, returning to the kitchen.

The doctor from the hospital, Whale, appeared from a hidden corner, a drink in his hand and shook David's hand as well, murmuring something softly.

Henry watched it with wide eyes and Emma had a feeling he didn't miss much.

"You know why he doesn't remember?" Henry whispered, leaning closer to Emma. "The curse isn't working on him yet."

"Henry…" Emma said before she thought better of it. "David has amnesia."

"Which is preventing the curse from replacing his fairy tale story with fake memories." Henry gave her the patronizing look he reserved for she was being especially doubtful, pressing his lips together and lifting his eyebrows, waiting for her to see the light.

And with last week's near disaster still fresh in her mind, Emma was in no rush to contradict him. After the incident with the mines, she decided she could let him have this a little longer. She could be patient and wait until the right opportunity presented itself or until Henry matured a little and started to see the world as it really was. One of those was bound to happen eventually.

"Right," Emma said, trying to sound like she was the one coming out of temporary amnesia. "Because everyone here has fake stories that prevent them from remembering who they really are." She hoped she wasn't laying the nubile believer on too thick, she wanted enough to sound like she was listening, but not so much that she sounded like a full convert.

"Right." Henry's eyes sparkled, a sure signal that Operation Cobra had a new plan. "And now's our chance to help him. We just have to get him to remember that he's…"

"He's Prince Charming."

Henry nodded, looking way to serious for someone still in the single digits. "We just have to jog his memory by getting him and Miss Blanchard together."

"Didn't we just try that?" Emma asked, because she needed to put the brakes on that plan real fast. Mary Margaret was having a hard enough time after their last attempt. Humoring Henry only went on as long as no one got hurt, and this? This would definitely hurt her roommate. And a whole bunch of other people to boot.

"And it woke him up," Henry said, with a sly grin.

Damn. Of course, that little success was going to last for who knew how long. Another reason Emma was willing to play along for now. If she did try open his eyes again, she needed to be sure that it wasn't going to backfire like that did.

She was saved from further argument by the gentle shush of shoes against carpet. David came over, hands hanging loosely, a gentle grin on his face.

"Hey," David said, his voice echoing in the small hall. "You're the ones who saved me, right?"

Emma stood, hands going automatically to her back pockets as she replied, "Oh, yeah. I guess."

"And," David said, glancing behind him, he slid his own hands into his pockets. "Uh, you're also the only ones I know here." He bounced a little on his toes as he spoke and it took Emma a moment to realize that the gesture reminded her of Henry.

Probably a boy thing, she thought.

Emma chuckled softly. "You can hide with us."

"Fantastic." David made a soft, surprised sound as a server came from the kitchen on his left, a platter with cheese and celery and other things arranged on it. David picked up a toothpick and skewered a boiled carrot—really, who served boiled carrots at a party—murmuring his thanks to man before stepping out of his way.

"So," Henry said, tilting his head up so he looked David in the eye. His grey cardigan bunched up a little as he folded his arms across his chest, looking like a tiny, dark-haired Mr. Rogers as he questioned David. "You ever use a sword?"

David grinned, amused more than befuddled. "I'm sorry?"

Emma meeting his eyes with a little sigh and a shrug, like, _Kids say the darndest things, right?_

David gestured to her with his boiled carrot. "Emma, you live with Mary Margaret, right?" When she nodded he kept on, "You know if she's coming tonight?"

"No," Emma said with an apologetic smile. "She couldn't make it."

"Oh." David nodded, like he understood, but disappointment still leaked through.

Maybe Mary Margaret wasn't the only person that needed protecting from Henry's schemes.

David smile again. "Well, tell her we miss her at the hospital. Or, they miss her." He chuckled. "This'll take some getting used to."

Emma nodded. "I'll do that."

Taking a bite of his carrot, David walked off, milling about the room and smiling politely at people when they spoke to him.

"Alright, kid," Emma said. "Let's see what the food looks like at this party."

"Well, with my mom involved, you know there won't be any onion rings," Henry muttered, kicking at the carpet.

"Maybe there'll be some good, old-fashioned potato chips though."

Henry made a doubtful face, but he followed Emma into the living room.

"Emma!" Doctor Whale smiled a bright, plastic smile. The ice in his drink clinked as he separated from the person he had been speaking with and approached the pair. "Good to see you."

"Thanks," Emma said, a little surprised by the doctor's cheeriness.

"You live with Mary Margaret, right?" Whale asked.

"Uh, yes," Emma said, glancing down at Henry.

He shrugged, as though déjà vu were a common part of his life, and sat on the corner of the coffee table. A real mom would have told him that tables were not for sitting on. Emma, however, saw no reason to abide by this rule and left him be.

"We miss her at the hospital."

"Yeah," Emma said, "David was just mentioning that."

"Listen." Whale took a step closer. "I don't mean to be that guy, but if she's worried that what happened between us might make things awkward, she doesn't need to be. She's a good volunteer and I promise I will be nothing but professional."

Emma nodded. "I see."

So this was Bad Date Guy from Emma's second night in town. She supposed she should thank him, if it hadn't of been for his horrible manners, Emma might still be sleeping in her car.

"Tell her that fo—"

A flash of light and dark distracted Whale, pulling Emma's gaze with his as Kathryn approached.

"Have you seen David?" she asked, glancing quickly to either side, like David was waiting to jump out from behind on of them.

"Um, he…" Emma trailed off. David had been back by the doorway, chatting with the blonde with the bob, but he was nowhere in sight.

"No," Whale said decisively

"Oh, well, thank you," Kathryn said, her eyes scanning the room one last time. "Maybe he just stepped out for some air." She brushed her hands down the front of her dress and headed for the door.

Emma had a feeling that David had stepped out, and she didn't doubt he wanted to escape all these strange faces, but she had a feeling Kathryn wouldn't find him chilling on the front porch. Kathryn's disappointed face when she returned inside confirmed that suspicion. Strangely, Kathryn was the only person who seemed to miss David's presence. Everyone else went about their business, wandering in and out of the two main rooms, the groups constantly rotating and changing. Not once did Emma hear anyone but Kathryn ask after David.

Emma took pity on the poor woman, looking forlorn and lost by the doorway.

"Thanks for having me," Emma said as she passed by on the way to the door.

"You're going already?" both Kathryn and Henry said, Kathryn's soft voice a pleasant undertone to Henry's near whine.

"My choices at the station were either early mornings or overnights," Emma said. "I chose early mornings over dealing with a drunk Leroy at 2 a.m." She smiled at Henry. "I'll see you soon, okay?" Ruffling his hair, she headed out the door. She might not be the type to out her roommate, but she could definitely deliver a swift kick in the pants to David for bailing on his wife without warning, even if he was completely out of his depth.

It wasn't until she sat in front of the bug outside the apartment that she thought about what she might be walking in on. Mary Margaret didn't strike her as the affair type and from what she'd said, it didn't sound like she and David had gotten too familiar—he had been in the hospital after all—but still…anything could happen.

Thankfully, Emma didn't have to wonder long. A shadow in the yard moved and David appeared from behind the tree, his eyes trained on the window one story above them. He turned away from the apartment, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, shoulders slumped, head bowed in thought as he trudged down the street.

Emma waited until David rounded the corner before she got out of the car. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, the stairs creaked, the hinges on the door protesting as she slipped inside. Despite all of this, Mary Margaret didn't even notice Emma's entrance.

She stood at the sink, her sleeves pushed back past her elbows and her hair haphazardly pinned away from her face, her complete focus devoted to the plate in her hand as she scrubbed with concentrated but, frantic devotion. From the sound of the squeaks emanating from plate and sponge, whatever Mary Margaret attacked had washed away long ago.

"You might want to ease up," Emma said. "Or that brillo pad's going to press charges."

Mary Margaret's head jerked up, surprise lighting her face briefly. "Dishes were just piling up…" she said, her focus returning as she dunked the plate in the soapy water.

Emma smiled, feeling a certain comfort in Mary Margaret's denial of the situation. It almost reminded her of her.

"This have anything to do with David stopping by?" Emma asked, removing her jacket as she approached the counter. She chuckled at Mary Margaret's shocked expression. The proverbial kid with their hand in the cookie jar. Not that Emma had ever seen a cookie jar as a kid. "I saw him sulking away as I pulled up."

Mary Margaret became even more interested in the dishes as she rinsed them and placed them in the rack to dry. "We just… Uh… He just…"

"Yeah, I know," Emma said, leaning into the solidness of their little counter. "You're both 'just'. And you did the right thing."

"He made a pretty compelling case…" Mary Margaret said, still refusing to look at Emma.

"But he's still married," Emma said, thinking of Kathryn's sad face. "I know—I was just at the party."

Mary Margaret stilled, water sloshing around her fingers. "What do I do?"

"You need to stop cleaning," Emma said. "And have a drink." She headed straight for the bottle of MacCutcheon, grabbing two cordial glasses before she headed back to the table. Eyeing Emma like she expected her to bite, Mary Margaret joined her, the chair squealing against the wooden floor as she drew it back from the table.

"Here's the thing," Emma said, the cap on rasping against the bottle as she unscrewed it. She started pouring. "I don't know a lot about relationships, other than having many that failed." She let that sit for a moment as she set the bottle aside. She decided against sharing any more personal details, Mary Margaret didn't need anecdotes, she needed reassurance that she had done the right thing. Emma sat down, toying with the stem of her glass. "But generally speaking, if you think something you want to do is wrong, it is. So…" Emma lifted her glass. "You got to stay strong and he has to figure out his life."

Mary Margaret swallowed, but she nodded, her fingers wrapping around the stem of her glass and raising it to meet Emma's. The two glasses clinked as they tapped the rims lightly.

Emma smiled. "Cheers."

# # #

Killian had kept to his word since the incident at the mine, backing off, letting Emma have her space. He didn't want to. Even such brief meetings, the hospital, the diner, the mines, her sudden appearance at the docks, set him craving her company like a man on a desert island craves water. But he could not in good conscience follow her around, so he unearthed his old obsession: searching for the Crocodile's weakness.

For the past week, Killian had been keeping an eye on Rumplestiltskin, hoping that something would click. He knew of the dagger. He doubted Rumplestiltskin let it far from his possession, but he was wary about moving before he knew he was looking in the right place. He hadn't survived hundreds of years on Neverland by being hasty. He survived by knowing his terrain, by knowing the moment to strike.

So far, despite a near constant vigil outside the Crocodile's shop, Killian hadn't discovered anything he didn't know. He was starting to get impatient.

And he was starting to get hungry.

The bell jingled, snapping his attention to the pawn shop across the street from him. Killian took a step back as Rumplestiltskin locked up, leaning heavily on his cane as he walked down the street. He waited a few moments, then set out after him, curious. The Crocodile wasn't exactly an afternoon stroll person.

Something deep inside him flared, stoking the burning rage that lived inside him. It rankled that Rumplestiltskin could walk free in this world, that he would still have the power to threaten someone Killian cared about when far better people were miles below the ocean's surface in another realm.

It was slow going, down two blocks, the man's limp making him easy to keep up with, but hard to stay behind. More than once, Killian had to admire a display in a shop window to keep from catching up. At last, Rumplestiltskin entered the bakery, the bell jangling loud enough that Killian heard it all the way across the street. He stepped off the curb with purpose, crossing the street, checking through the window before he entered. The Crocodile didn't even turn around when the bell announced Killian's entrance.

Inside, the clerk, a portly older man with sparse fringe of hair and a pair of round spectacles, bumbled around behind the counter.

"It's here somewhere," he murmured in an adenoidal voice as he ducked behind the counter.

Rumplestiltskin tapped gently on the handle of his cane. "Come now, dearie, I don't have all day," he said in his raspy accent, the vowels sagging slightly as he spoke.

Fist clenched so tight his fingernails bit into his palm, Killian turned to the display case, pretending to be engrossed in the cookies, donuts, and other pastries there. Also there, not five feet from Killian, stood the sheriff, surveying the offerings with very real interest.

"Oh, here it is," the clerk squeaked, popping back above the counter with a roll of money in his hand.

Rumplestiltskin took the cash, the edges rustling under his caress.

"It's all there," the clerk said.

"I'm sure it is," the Crocodile replied. "If it isn't, well, I know where to find you." With a nod, he limped back to the door, his cane thudding dully on the tile floor.

Killian tensed, but Rumplestiltskin spared not a glance his way.

"Sorry about that, Sheriff," the little man said, hurrying back to the display.

"It's alright," Graham said. "It's been a slow day. I'm not in any rush."

With the Crocodile no longer on the premises, Killian should have walked right out the door, but something about the way Graham studied the pastries behind the glass held his interest. The sheriff did not particularly strike him as a frequent visitor of this establishment. A special occasion, perhaps? But that seemed unlikely. It only took a moment for Killian to land on a far more likely answer.

"Not that I'm an expert on such things," he said, "but that looks suspiciously like a bribe."

Graham tilted his head, one eyebrow raised. "And what need would a humble officer like myself have for a bribe?"

Killian snorted. "Anyone who has known Emma more than a day knows that food is an effective way into her good graces."

"Ah, yes," Graham said, crossing his arms. "I forget that you are old friends."

Killian grinned at him. "You could say that."

"Though she doesn't seem particularly fond of you," Graham continued. "If the other day is anything to go by."

"At least I'm honest about my intentions," Killian spat out.

The clerk looked exceedingly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as they argued. "Sheriff, what else would you like?"

Graham didn't take his eyes from Killian. "Oh, whatever is most popular. We're not particular."

Killian tapped gently on the glass. "He'll want a bear claw if he's trying to romance the fair Lady Swan."

"I assure you, this has nothing to do with romance," Graham said.

"Oh?" Killian smirked. "That's best I suppose. Tell me, does she know about your dalliance with the mayor?"

Graham inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. "My personal life is hardly her business."

"You mean to make it her business," Killian shot back. " _If_ the other day is anything to go by."

"So, is that a no to the bear claw?" the clerk asked.

Silence tensed in the store for a moment. Graham's eyes narrowed. "I suppose it's no loss if he's wrong."

Killian snorted. "I won't be wrong." His smirk widened. "And no need to thank me."

"Quite generous, you are," Graham said. The hand on his belt tightened.

Killian took a step closer. "Another thing I won't be wrong about, if you want to remain in Emma's good graces, don't let her find out about your little affair from other sources. She won't be pleased." He saluted Graham mockingly. "Good afternoon, sheriff."

"Wasn't there something you wanted?" the clerk called as Killian strode toward the door.

"Already have what I came for," Killian threw over his shoulder as the bell jingled one last time.

As he made his way back down the street, ready to take up his vigil once again, the smell of fried food drifted toward him. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten lunch yet. A bit late in the day now, but food was food whatever time it was consumed. He turned sharply, long legs carrying him to the door of Granny's. Due to the odd hour, the diner was sparsely populated, but Killian had no doubt that at the end of the business day, the booths and tables would be crowded. Counting himself lucky, Killian sidled up to the counter, debating whether he should get something to go.

The diner's only other notable occupant—there was a youngish couple in the corner that Killian didn't know—was the mayor's lad, perched on one of the stools, a massive book lying open in front of him.

"Here you go, Henry," Ruby said, sliding a mug toward the boy.

"Thanks, Ruby," the lad replied, small fingers curling around the cup. The whipped cream was piled so high, it touched his nose as he drank, leaving behind a white film and a dusting of what looked like cinnamon to Killian's practiced eye.

He smiled, it seemed Emma was rubbing off on the lad.

"Hook," Ruby said, eyes going wide. "Um, what can I get you?"

"Everything alright?" Killian asked, glancing around, thinking perhaps he missed someone entering the diner.

"Yeah," Ruby said, scooting down the counter. "Perfectly fine. Just, you're a little late today. I wasn't expecting you."

"You are a horrible liar, Ruby," Henry quipped, picking at the corner of the book with a fingernail.

Ruby opened her mouth, snapped it shut, and spun on her heel, tromping back over to the window and haranguing the cook about something. Killian watched her go, intrigued both by her quick exit and her short shorts.

"Grown-ups are gross," Henry grumbled.

Killian snorted. "Give it ten years, see if you think that then."

Silence settled over them as Killian waited for his coffee, which Ruby seemed to have forgotten momentarily. He glanced down at the boy and his storybook, open to a rather daunting section with small text on one side and a masterful illustration on the other of a young man with short, dark blond hair.

"Ah, is this the infamous book?" Killian asked.

"Yep," Henry said.

"It's wonderfully drawn. May I?"

The lad blinked up at him, lips parting in shock. Just as quick, a mischievous grin spread across his face and he slid the book over in front of Killian. Carefully, Killian flipped through the pages, paying little attention to the text. He recognized Regina right off. There was no mistaking the haughty tilt of her head or the dark glint in her eye. Others were harder to recognize, but he found the blond man again, this time with a gash on his chin. And there was a dark-haired woman, with green eyes he would have recognized anywhere.

"You say everyone in this town is in this book?" Killian said.

Henry nodded vigorously. "Except for you."

"Yes."

"So, Snow White…" Killian tapped the page with his index finger. "Who is she?"

The boy's eyes narrowed. "You believe me?" Setting his cocoa down, he turned to face Killian fully.

"I am intrigued," Killian said. "I'd like to compare."

The answer seemed to satisfy the lad. "She's my teacher, Ms. Blanchard—well, you would call her Mary Margaret cause you're an adult."

"Ah," Killian nodded. "Emma's roommate. I know of her."

In the background, the phone rang. Ruby rushed over to answer it, distracting Killian, but not Henry. The lad had pulled the book between them and he was rifling through the pages until he found a picture of a couple. Snow White and the blond man Henry had been studying earlier.

"That's Mr. Nolan," Henry said. "He's Prince Charming."

"The coma patient?" Killian looked back down at the picture. The one of Snow White looked accurate enough from what he'd seen of her, but he had yet to see David Nolan around town. He had heard a thing or two though. "I thought he was married."

The boy shook his head emphatically. "That's just the curse keeping them apart. The Evil Queen hates them, she wants them to be miserable."

"Really…" Killian knew of course. He'd been in and out of the Evil Queen's domain for a bit, tracking down things for Pan and a few things for himself. The specifics were hazy—he'd probably been drunk—but he caught wind that Regina was looking for him and he was wise enough to know that if she was looking for him, it could hardly be to ask after his good health. He finished his business and high-tailed it back to Neverland. Pan hadn't sent him back to the Enchanted Forest once the curse was cast. Probably a waste of time.

"You are way cooler about this than Emma is," Henry commented, his small hands wrapping around his mug again. "She's always rolling her eyes and fidgeting whenever I bring this up."

Killian smiled. "Well, Emma was never the type for fairytales."

The lad's eyes narrowed.

"Hey, kid," Ruby cut in. "That was… your mom." Was it his imagination, or was Ruby hesitating. "She's working late tonight, so she said to go over to Archie's and see if he would walk you home." She leaned over the counter, plucking the mug from Henry's hands. "Why don't I put that in a to-go cup?"

"Why is she working late?" Henry protested. "She can't work late, she promised we'd work on Operation Cobra."

"Operation Cobra?"

The boy's hands went to his mouth, wide eyes on Killian. "Whoops. Sorry, I can't really talk about it. It's top secret and if the Evil Queen found out…"

"I hardly see the Evil Queen." He glanced about, though he wondered if it would be out of character to tell the lad that if he was sharing this project with Regina, the Evil Queen already knew.

Henry looked in one direction and then the other before leaning toward Killian. "She has spies everywhere, Mr. Hook."

"Here you go, Henry," Ruby said, plopping the little cardboard cup in front of the lad. "Now go, you don't want your mom to get mad." She trotted around the counter, helping him toward the door, despite his protestations. Henry had no choice but to tuck his book under one arm and pick up his hot chocolate as Ruby muttered about Regina and getting home safe.

A moment later, she sauntered back over, an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry, he's a stubborn little kid." She slid his coffee across the counter, then rushed to retrieve a paper sack and place it in front of him. "We've been seeing a lot more of you lately, any particular reason?" Ruby asked the question like she already knew the answer, which she couldn't possibly.

"Possibly," Killian said with a wink. Cradling the food in his arm, he picked up his drink and headed outside. The Crocodile had been unattended for far too long. Time to get back to his vigil.

# # #

She heard him coming long before he rounded the corner and she buried her nose even further in the file she was reading.

Graham stopped right next to her chair, so close that the hairs on her arm stood up—but not in a bad way. There was the scrape of cardboard and the smell of yeasty goodness from his general direction and Emma looked over to find him holding a box full of donuts.

No, not all donuts. There was a bear claw.

Lucky guess.

He inhaled with a slight grimace. "Sometimes, clichés are true."

Emma sat back in her chair, elbows sticking to the tacky vinyl as she stared up at him. "Okay. What do you want?" She pressed her lips tightly together, wondering if he was buttering her up or trying to woo her with food.

Graham sighed. "Remember when I said no night shifts? I need you to work tonight." At the look on Emma's face, he hastily added, "Just this once."

"Why?" Emma whined, without caring that she sounded about five years old. Or that he was technically her boss. Or that he was ridiculously attractive. She had been looking forward to hanging out with Henry, even if it was just for the ten minute walk back to his house.

Graham sighed. "I volunteer at an animal shelter, and the supervisor's sick, and someone needs to feed the dogs."

Emma groaned. Not only was he attractive and bringing her food, but he had a good excuse too. She pursed her lips, looking at the half dozen pastries in the box.

Gingerly, she fished out her favorite. "You're very lucky you bought a bear claw."

Graham's eyes widened and he snapped the box shut, lip caught distractingly in his teeth.

As she stared up at him, Emma found it hard to breath. So she did the only logical thing, she took a huge bite of the bear claw.

Graham smiled, but just as she stepped closer, the patter of feet echoed off the brick walls. Both of them turned in time to see Mary Margaret round the corner.

She came running up to Emma, cutting neatly around Graham. "Emma, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Graham's eyes flicked once between the two women. He placed the box of donuts on top of a stack of files. "I'll just go patrol my office." He rocked back, taking long, casual steps that pulled at Emma's eyes.

"Thanks," she called, waving the bear claw like a trophy.

Mary Margaret practically danced as she waited for Graham to enter his office. The blue polka dot skirt swayed back and forth erratically behind her twisting hands. Emma sat forward, curious about what triggered all this nervous energy.

"He left his wife," Mary Margaret said on a soft exhalation. "David–he left her. He left Kathryn."

"Slow down," Emma tried, but her friend steam-rolled right over her.

"He did it for me." Mary Margaret started pacing, fidgeting with her sweater, her skirt, her purse as her words tumbled out. "He wants me to be with him. He wants me to meet him tonight."

"That's, uh…"

"I mean, I'm trying so hard to be strong, but he just keeps coming." Mary Margaret threw her hands in the air, eyes rolling into the back of her head briefly. She walked another half circle around Emma, waiting for her to swivel around. "I mean, how do I stop it? You know, how do I let him down? What would you do?"

"I'd go," Emma said before she thought better of it.

She definitely would not go, she decided half a second later. No matter what he spouted or what promises he made, but then, Emma didn't do anything but one night stands and Mary Margaret was the type that settled down.

Unlike Emma, Mary Margaret was exactly the type that probably had a soulmate or whatever waiting for her somewhere out there. And David's actions were matching up with his words.

"What?" Mary Margaret looked as shocked as if Emma had grown a third eye.

"Well he left her," Emma explained. "It's one thing to say that he wants you, but it's another to actually make a choice and now, he has." She shrugged. "That's all you can ask for."

Mary Margaret took a moment, absorbing that. She picked at the files on Emma's desk for a moment, before scooting them aside enough she could perch on the edge.

"Given her new friendship with Kathryn, I don't think Regina would be happy." She pulled at the edges of her cardigan, tucking the sweater around herself.

Emma snorted. "All the more reason to do it." And with that, she took another bite of the bear claw.

"Good Lord," Mary Margaret said, her voice breathy. "Is this really happening?"

Swallowing her bite of pastry, Emma smiled up at her friend. "You tell me."

Mary Margaret exhaled softly, a little chuckle escaping her lips. The stillness lasted for another moment before she jumped to her feet, nearly upsetting the entire mess on that side of Emma's desk.

"I have to go," she said as Emma rescued her files from toppling. Mary Margaret plucked at her dress, almost scurrying as she left the room muttering, "What am I going to wear?"

# # #

Night had fallen and except for one brief interaction with a woman who came to sell some valuable item, the Crocodile had spent most of the day in his shop. The watching and waiting grated on Killian's nerves, as it had the day before and the day before that. He wanted action. He wanted to search every inch of that bloody shop until he found where Rumplestiltskin had secreted away the dagger. Lurking in the shadows wasn't going to avenge Milah or free Emma from the bargain she made for the maid's child.

And yet, he had only been inside that shop once, when he first came to Storybrooke nearly ten years ago. He wasn't foolish, he knew he needed more information, needed at least a place to start. He'd not likely have much time to search the shop when he did break in. Better to get the lay of the land first as it were.

So far, Rumplestiltskin showed no signs of remembering his cursed self, even with Emma here and the curse weakening. Perhaps it was worth the risk.

Tossing his long empty coffee cup, Killian strolled casually across the street, as though walking home from work, hand and hook in his pockets. The block was deserted, the owners of the few cars parked on this side of town showing no sign of claiming them.

Killian leaned in, looking through the blinds. The front of the shop was still empty, but the sign on the door read 'Open'. Gingerly he tried the doorknob, it twisted smoothly and he pushed into the store, wincing as the door creaked. He paused and when that didn't bring the proprietor rushing to the front, stepping inside and carefully closing the door behind him. Still no one. He brushed his fingers over the hilt of the knife at his belt, longing for his cutlass. Unfortunately, those were not common attire in this realm.

When the Crocodile still didn't appear, Killian took his time looking around, stepping carefully lest he find a loose floorboard and alert Rumplestiltskin to his presence. Looking for a suitable excuse.

The shop was cluttered, the cobwebs in the corners attesting to how long it had been since someone cleaned the place up. The glass cases were cloudy and specked in places, obscuring some of their wares. Two grotesque puppets stared up at Killian from their place on a counter, their faces pulled into expressions of horror. He shook his head at them, not wondering that they hadn't sold.

Ceramic beer steins and a tarnished lamp cluttered another counter just above a display of a fine china tea set with pink flowers. A stained glass lamp caught his eye, a very pretty thing of green and pink glass that he rather admired. It reminded him of Emma's roommate.

The finest piece of all though, was a mobile made from spun glass. Delicate unicorns hung from fine string, some of them blue and some colorless. It tinkled quietly as Killian walked up to it, the bright glass winking at him. Whoever had commissioned this had been quite rich indeed to afford such craftsmanship. He thought those might be real rubies and sapphires threaded on the strings.

He heard footsteps and the tap of a cane from the back of the shop and something told him that he did not want to get caught staring at this pretty thing. He stepped back, casually scanning the other things stacked up against the wall, though he kept the curtained door in his peripheral vision.

The Crocodile appeared and Killian savored the look of surprise on his face at finding his shop occupied, though Killian was careful to keep his own face neutral.

"My apologies," Rumplstiltskin said, letting the curtain fall shut behind him. "I didn't hear the door. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long at all." Killian faced him, watching, waiting for something, anything that might betray that the Crocodile recognized him, but now as every time before, Rumplestiltskin stared at him with blank eyes and a vaguely pleasant smile. He had expected it, had known by the words coming out of the man's mouth that nothing had changed, but it still chaffed against him. Biting down hard on the rage, Killian approached the register by the back wall.

"Well then, what brings you to my shop, Mister…" Rumplestiltskin asked, resting both hands on the top of his cane as he waited for Killian to answer the question.

"Jones." He clenched his jaw, weighing an idea in his mind. This too grated against every sensibility and yet, it was something he daren't take any chances with. "It seems we have a mutual acquaintance."

"Do we?" The shop owner tilted his head, poorly cut hair flopping over his eyes.

"Emma Swan."

"Ah," Rumplestiltskin said, rocking back on his heels. "Yes, I've come across her a couple of times."

Swallowing his pride and his rage, Killian held the Crocodile's gaze. "I'm here to settle her debt to you."

"Is that so?" The man paced behind the counter, lips pursed thoughtfully. "Well, I'm afraid it's a bit difficult to put a price on a child. They are priceless, aren't they?"

"Everything has a price with you, Gold," Killian bit out. "Whatever it is, I'll pay it. I've quite a sum saved up. And if that's not enough, I'm sure we can make an arrangement. I've hear you are quite fond of making deals."

Rumplestiltskin turned on him with a searching look. "And who is Ms. Swan to you, Mr. Jones?"

Killian sucked in a breath, cursing himself for a fool. Since the day at the hospital, he had played with this idea. Of course the surest way to see that Rumplestiltskin never called in his favor from Emma was to kill him, but Killian wasn't a fool. He had lived a long life and he had no doubt that would catch up to him at some point. Though he hoped Emma would end the curse before that happened, he had also lived long enough to know that tomorrow was never a guarantee. And if, heaven forbid, he fail to destroy the Crocodile and lose his life in the process…Well, it was better to have these things settled.

Except the Crocodile was still the Crocodile, even if he had changed his skin.

"A friend," Killian said. "An honest woman who's new to town and has no idea who she deals with."

Rumplestiltskin smirked at him. "An honest woman? I suppose that depends on how you look at it." He leaned against the glass counter, fingernail tapping softly against the glass.

"What do you care, Gold? So long as you get your money."

"I care because what I need from Ms. Swan has no monetary value," Rumplestiltskin replied, his smile turning cold and cruel. "She possesses a unique set of skills and someday I'll be in need of those skills."

Killian thought he knew the depths of his hatred for this man, but in that moment, he found new depths to pull from.

Rumplestiltskin was weak and frail. A cripple. Though perhaps Killian wasn't one to quibble on that matter—still his injuries had left him with a weapon, the Dark One had only a limp. Killian was bigger, stronger, faster. It would be no matter to kill the man right here and now. It wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't what Milah deserved, but if it kept this man from harming one more person that Killian cared about, perhaps it was worth the sacrifice. Would it matter if the Crocodile remembered the sins that he died for, so long as they were avenged?

It could be over so quickly.

Behind him, the door creaked.

"Um, excuse me," a soft male voice said. "Sorry to interrupt, but I seem to be a bit lost."

Killian stepped back from the counter, glancing at the newcomer. He was tall, with short-cropped blond hair and broad shoulders, it looked like a knight's build was hidden beneath the heavy, blue jacket he wore. The man stepped hesitantly into the shop, letting the door swing shut behind him. He was no one Killian recognized.

Rumplestiltskin regarded this stranger with the same cool indifference he had shown Killian.

The man took a hesitant step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I seem to be a little lost."

Killian tilted his head. "Bit early in the evening for that, isn't it?" He wanted this man gone. Though he supposed it was too late for his dark business now. If Rumplestiltskin turned up dead in the morning, this man, whoever he was could place him here.

The newcomer didn't respond, captivated by the shining mobile that seemed to be the only truly bright thing in the shop. He reached out, his hand hovering beneath one of the little unicorns, a thoughtful look on his face. Closer now and in the light, Killian could make out a faint scar on his chin.

A bell went off in Killian's mind, he had seen this man somewhere.

"Charming."

The man blinked, jerking back from the mobile. "I'm sorry?"

Killian's eyes narrowed. Glancing between the man and the mobile, the scar and the gift fit for a princess. Understanding dawned. He had found Prince Charming…or rather, the man had found him.

"The mobile," Rumplestilskin continued, a floorboard creaking beneath him as he hobbled around behind the counter. His eyes never left the prince's. "Isn't it charming? Exquisitely designed, masterly crafted… I can get it down, if you like." He gestured to the rafters above them, from which the delicate gift swung gently.

The prince stepped back. "No, no. I mean, it's… It's very nice, but actually, I'm looking for the toll bridge." The dim light glinted off the folded paper in his hand. He looked down, tapping it with a finger and Killian realized he held a map. "The Mayor said there was a fork in the road by your shop, but—"

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "It seems Miss Mills has lead you astray."

"Yeah." The man chuckled. "Yeah, you would think the Mayor would know her own town."

"One would think." The Crocodile pointed with a long, bony finger. "Out of the door, turn right, two blocks you'll find a trail. Can't miss it."

"Thank you." The man—Emma's father—spun on his heel.

As relieved as Killian was to see him go, he couldn't help watching the prince go, searching for something, anything to tie him to Emma. The man froze in his steps, staring something near the door. Killian craned his neck, but he couldn't find anything worthy of such a reaction.

"Are you alright, mate?"

"I—uh…" He pointed at a windmill. Ordinary in every way except its size—why anyone would want such a thing, Killian couldn't fathom.

"See something you like?" came the Crocodile's dry voice.

Killian tensed. Something was happening here. Something he didn't understand, but if the way the hair stood up on the back of his neck was any indication, it was nothing good. He whipped around, almost expecting to find the Crocodile as he first saw him, with glittering skin and a menacing grin. But it was only Mr. Gold who stood there in his understated suit.

The prince took a step closer to the contraption. "Where did you get that?"

"That old thing?" Rumplestiltskin looked down, fiddling with one of the rings on his finger. "That's been gathering dust for…forever."

Emma's father approached the windmill and Killian's gut curled. He should stop the prince. He didn't know what would happen if the man touched that windmill, but he knew that it would not be good. If it had just been the two of them, he would have. But he could feel the Crocodile's calculating eyes on his back, taking in everything and tucking it away for later. If he saved Emma's father from whatever magic was being worked here, would that tip Rumplestiltskin off to the fact that he knew? So far, that was the only advantage Killian possessed. Even if the Crocodile had his memories, he was unlikely to strike as long as he thought Killian might be cursed.

Watching Killian's suffering sounded like exactly the kind of thing the Crocodile would relish.

Killian didn't move, but the prince did.

His hand landed on one of the windmill's blades, setting it spinning. "I think…" His eyes moved up and down, taking in every detail. He breathed deeply. "This belonged to me."

"Really?" Rumplestiltskin said like he was a casual observer. "Are you sure?"

"Yes…I remember."

Killian heard the man's reply, but his eyes were on the Crocodile.

Rumplestiltskin paid him little heed, smiling cruelly as he watched the blades of the windmill spin.

"Oh my god," the prince said. "I remember." He glanced back at them with wide eyes. "I, uh, thank you. I have to go." He staggered a little, leaning against the door for a moment before opening it and rushing outside.

Killian's feet felt stuck to the spot. He didn't want to leave and yet, whatever had just happened…That was Emma's father stumbling down the street. He glanced back at Rumplestiltskin, teeth grinding together and then he made his decision.

The Crocodile would still be here tomorrow.

He had to be sure.

He hurried after Emma's father.

"Hey, mate," he called halting the man's progress. "The toll bridge is that way." He jerked a thumb over toward the turn the prince had missed.

"The toll bridge?" he asked. "Oh, right, I was supposed to meet…" He scrubbed a hand over his face, covering his eyes for a minute. "I can't…I can't go there right now, I have to get home."

But he didn't move.

"Who were you supposed to meet?" Killian asked, closing the distance between them.

The prince sighed. "Mary Margaret."

Bloody hell.

For a moment, he had hoped that maybe the prince remembered his true self, that perhaps Emma's parents were that much closer to finding each other and things would work out.

"Don't do that, mate," Killian said.

"Don't do what? Go back to my wife?" He looked down the street, hand on the back of his neck, a war waging in his eyes. Killian had seen that look many times when he was in the Navy, in the eyes of sailors who left their hearts in the hands of a sweetheart on shore.

Perhaps he could still fix this.

He swallowed, fully aware that he was about to give the most hypocritical advice of his life.

"Don't leave her waiting," he said. He held his hand up when the prince opened his mouth to protest. "I've heard a bit of your situation. Doesn't sound like there are any good solutions, but at least have the courage to break it to Mary Margaret like a man. Don't leave her there wondering. She deserves better than that."

The prince bit his lip. He nodded. "Yeah, she does." He took a deep breath, offering his hand to Killian. "Thanks, uh…"

"Killian. Killian Jones." He took the prince's hand, wondering if the man would be so friendly if he knew of Killian's history with his daughter.

"David Nolan," the prince said. He clapped Killian on the shoulder, the hard, jarring blow of someone who didn't quite know his own strength. "I owe you."

David walked off with the slouch of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Killian stepped back into the shadows. He needed to know how this turned out. He hoped that David would return, arm in arm with Emma's mother. Surely that would deal a blow to the curse, perhaps even weaken it enough that people's memories began returning. And if that happened, he wouldn't have to wait any longer to destroy the Crocodile.

# # #

The night shift wasn't sucking too terribly so far. The White Rabbit hadn't called her to come haul Leroy home yet and she had a Thermos full of Granny's strongest coffee. In fact, it was kind of nice, cruising down the sleepy streets with just herself for company. For once, her thoughts were pretty quiet, leaving her to observe without inner commentary or guilt.

On a whim, she turned the squad car down Mifflin, thinking that even if she had to cancel her date with her kid, she could at least make sure that his house was as quiet as all the others.

Only it wasn't.

Emma slammed on the brakes as soon as she saw the dark figure climbing out of the second story window, heart racing. She grabbed her baton and jumped out, closing the door quietly behind her and sneaking around to hide behind the hedge. Once she was sure this guy couldn't do damage to anyone else, she could go make sure Henry and Regina were alright.

He was the worst perp Emma had ever tailed—and that was saying something—walking down Regina's driveway like he had nothing to hide. His shoes crunched loudly on the concrete and Emma had no trouble timing her strike.

She swung the baton, hitting him right across the gut. He fell with a groan, hard, without even trying to stop his fall. He groaned again, rolling onto his back and Emma's eyed widened as the street light fell over a familiar face.

Graham.

"This is volunteering?" Emma demanded, glancing back at the house. The bedroom light was still on, but the window was closed now. She sucked in a breath, all the evidence leading to one conclusion. She was going to be sick.

Graham sighed, a short, pained thing. "Plans changed. Regina needed me to—"

"Sleep with her?"

"No." With a grunt, Graham pushed himself to his feet, hand still pressed to his stomach.

"Then…" She gave him a hard look. The both knew she had caught him red-handed, though why he still felt the need to lie was beyond her. She was completely capable of handling this like an adult. "Why were you sneaking out the window?"

"Because…"

Emma tilted her head, waiting for him to come up with something reasonable, something that didn't lump him in with every other guy she knew. It surprised her how hard she wanted that.

He sighed, hanging his head. "She didn't want Henry to know."

"You did this with Henry in the house?" she hissed.

"He's sleeping" he said, shaking his head at her like she was the crazy one. "He doesn't know."

"Oh my god, I wish I was Henry right now." She took a step back, surprised the ground was still solid beneath her feet. "This is disgusting."

"I really do work at an animal shelter." He sounded pitiful, nasally, how had she not noticed that he talked through his nose?

The keys jingled as she pulled them out of her pocket. "You can finish my shift. I'm done working nights."

She tossed them. His hand flashed up, catching them like he was used to getting things lobbed at his head. Emma turned away, heading back down the street and…she didn't know where. Mary Margaret might still be out with David, so she could go home, but on the other hand, home might be exactly where they were right now. And she really couldn't stomach whatever it was they were getting up to. She thought about Granny's but dismissed it quickly, it was closed by now. She thought about the docks, but dismissed that even quicker.

Finally, she settled on the one place sure to have what she needed. Lots and lots of alcohol.

The Rabbit Hole was a fancier joint that she would have expected in a small town like Storybrooke. Pretty sizable and clean. The lighting was dim, but only enough to suit the atmosphere. Emma headed straight for the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender to finish serving a man she recognized from the drug store.

The bartender turned to her. "Deputy Swan," he said. "Has there been a problem?" He was an overweight man, with short-cropped dark hair and a kinder face than you'd expect on a bartender.

"Nope," Emma said. "Just here for a drink."

"Pick your poison then," the man said.

"Whiskey."

The bartender gave an appreciative nod and a moment later, Emma had a drink in her hand. She downed it, wanting to get halfway to shit-faced in record time. Just close enough that the bottle at home could get her the rest of the way there.

"Ah, Chester, really?" a rough voice said from behind her.

Emma turned to find Leroy, an empty beer mug in his hand and sour expression on his face.

"Look, Deputy, I don't know what he told you but—"

"Relax, Leroy," Emma said. "I'm off-duty." Her glass made a ringing sound as she tapped the rim. "You cause trouble, it's Graham's problem."

"Next one's on me," said the last—well, currently second-to-last voice—she wanted to hear right now. Ring decked fingers slid a bill across the counter. "And another rum if you don't mind."

Emma sighed. "I can buy my own drinks."

"Which is why I'm only buying you one," Killian said, sinking heavily into the stool beside her. "Rough shift?"

Emma finally turned her head. He slouched, a nearly empty tumbler in his hand. The metal curve of his hook sat on the counter for all to see, but the neither the bartender nor Leroy were fazed by it. He wasn't looking at her, though he nodded in acknowledgement, the corner of his mouth flicking up briefly. He leaned against the bar, gaze studying the dark wood, dark circles under his eyes too purplish to blame the eyeliner.

"You don't look like yours has been much better," Emma said.

Killian only grunted and pushed his glass toward Chester. There's something about the fluid motion of the gesture that makes Emma take a second look. His eyes are bloodshot. His posture possessing a looseness she'd never seen before. Not on him at least.

"Are you drunk?"

He raises an eyebrow at her as he takes his drink, but still won't quite look at her. "This is hardly the first time you've seen me partake in a few libations." And the words are there, but the crispness that she always associated with his diction is gone, his accent thickening and morphing.

The bartender came back over, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He raised it in silent question. With one last look at Killian, she nodded.

"You had a few sips from your flask, yeah," she said, elbows pressing against the edge. "But I don't remember you getting even slightly tipsy."

He threw her that rakish grin. "Well," he said, finally turning to her with a leer, "when one is in the company of an enchanting teenage siren, it's best to keep one's inhibitions intact."

Emma rolled her eyes.

His expression turned serious, he shifted, moving closer to her without leaving his stool. "I'm sorry about Graham."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Emma said. She paused, setting her glass down on the counter and staring at him. "Wait, you knew about Graham and Regina?"

Killian nodded. "They aren't as secretive as they think they are. I imagine Regina's lad is the only one in town that doesn't know by now." He shook his head. "I told him he should say something."

Her eyes narrowed. "The bear claw was you."

He smiled, tilting his head in a self-satisfied fashion.

"It doesn't bother me," she said, throwing back the last of her whiskey and pushing the glass over for more.

"So the drinks are celebratory?"

Emma shrugged. In truth, she wanted to forget the whole thing had happened. Which was ridiculous. She was an adult. Graham was an adult. They were just coworkers, there was nothing else between them. But if there was nothing else between them, why was she reacting like she'd walked in on them mid act? Her stomach dropped to her feet.

Shit.

Has she started to develop feelings for Graham?

No, she told herself firmly. She'd only know him a few weeks.

And in those few weeks, she'd started to count on him. He was steady, stable, easy on the eyes, and clearly—or so she thought—interested in her.

You would think she'd learned her lesson the first time. But no. This kept happening. She kept finding guys that she thought were one thing, guys that convinced her she could count on them. And she was so desperate she fell faster than a rock. Of course she was.

And just like the last two times, Graham wasn't who he said he was.

She should have just slept with him that first night and gotten it out of her system. No way she'd be in this situation now.

And ugh, now that thought was stuck in her head.

She took another drink.

Beside her, Killian did the same.

Emma bit her lip, studying him from the corner of her eye.

He had nearly his entire weight on the counter, his head sagging as he sipped his rum. He wasn't just a little tipsy, he was nearly drunk off his ass. A few more drinks and he probably wouldn't even remember he saw her tonight.

Switch to tequila and she'd probably be the same.

It would certainly be a good way to get the images of Graham and Regina out of her head.

Killian slammed his glass down on the counter and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and throwing another few bills on the counter. He stood, his hand resting on the hardwood surface just long enough to make it obvious he wasn't steady on his feet.

"Put the rest on my tab, Chester," Killian said. "I'll settle next time I'm in."

The bartender nodded.

For one brief, terrifying moment, Emma actually considered following him back to his ship.

And then her brain caught up with her and she rejected the thought. No, no, no. That was the worst idea. She absolutely was not letting him fool her and draw her in again. She was not a naïve teenager this time and he wasn't going to win her over with his smirks and his flashing blue eyes only to drop her again when he got bored with the chase. Once was quite often enough for one lifetime.

Instead of heading for the door, Killian staggered past Emma, back into the room, clamping a heavy hand on Leroy's shoulder.

"C'mon, mate," he said. "Best get yourself home before you regret staying. I'd hate for the lovely lady to have to call the sheriff on you."

"I'm not done," Leroy growled.

"Ah, well, how about you come with me and we can throw back a few on my boat, if you like," he said.

Leroy pursed his lips together. "You really have a boat?"

"Indeed I do. I'll give you the full tour."

That got the shorter man moving, he downed the last of his beer and stood, leaving payment on the counter as he walked out, asking Killian questions a mile a minute.

Emma watched them go, feeling a low pull in her belly. She wanted to go after them.

And that scared her. Because she didn't just want to go drown out the night's betrayal. She wanted to—to talk, to laugh with Killian like she used to. She wanted what they had all those years ago, despite the fact that she knew none of it was real.

She had had quite enough to drink tonight.

"You take card?" Emma asked.

Chester nodded.

She fished her credit card out of her wallet, waiting as Chester swiped it and handed her the receipt to sign.

Salt-scented air greeted her as she left the bar and for a brief instant, she turned toward the harbor.

Then she stuck her hands in her pockets and trudged toward Main Street, hoping that Mary Margaret had taken whatever was going on with them to David's place, wherever that was. If they hadn't she supposed the bug would do well enough. She just wanted to sleep and forget all of this ever happened. She didn't want to remember any of it.

Not Graham.

Not Killian.

Nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

The sheriff was not having a good night.

Or at least, he gave Killian that impression when he stalked into Granny's, pinned a picture to the dartboard, and ordered a shot from Ruby. The vehemence with which he threw the first dart erased any of Killian's doubts and left him wondering what offense the object in the picture dealt Humbert.

Clearly, Emma was still upset over last night's events.

Ruby came over with the first shot and Graham downed it, asking for another.

Killian leaned back at his table by the window, sipping at his beer as the sheriff continued his singular game. He didn't bother to hide his smirk, he had warned the man.

Graham was on his third round of throwing and downing his fourth shot when the man in the booth directly behind him spoke up.

"Nice shot, chief. I bet you twenty bucks you can't do it again."

The look Graham shot back at the man—Killian recognized him, but didn't recall ever being introduced—raised serious questions about the history that lay between the two. The sheriff whipped around, the dart flying from his hand before he was turned fully. All Killian could make out of the picture from his vantage was a blur of brown and green, but the man at the table made an appreciative noise.

"Next round's on him," Graham said to Ruby.

She nodded.

Graham lifted his last dart, pulling his arm back to hit the board a fourth time when Emma rounded the corner, her eyes going wide as she froze in the doorway. He dropped his arm lighting fast, the dart a bright red spot against his dark jeans. Emma pressed her lips together.

Killian slouched further down in his seat, his own regrets from last night still stinging his conscience. What the bloody hell had he been thinking, standing by while the Crocodile tore Emma's parents apart? He had known that the man wanted David to touch the windmill, had felt it in his bones and yet he did nothing. The alcohol in his veins was the only reason he could look Emma in the eye at the bar last night.

"Emma!" Ruby said, stepping into Emma's path. "What can I get you?"

Emma's eyes flicked between Ruby and Graham. "Nothing

Killian amended his previous assessment, she was still _very_ upset over last night's events.

He had a hand in that too, obviously, because he knew and he didn't tell Emma before she got attached to the sheriff. And she had, he could see that much in the way she turned, slipping past Graham with room to spare. She didn't even see Killian as she stomped to the door.

Graham spun, dart flying from his hand and sinking into the doorframe with a loud thunk.

Emma jumped back, breath catching audibly.

The chair screeched against the floor as Killian stood, shouting, "Oi, mate!" as the same time as Emma turned on Graham to shout, "What the hell?"

Her shoulders stiffened at Killian's voice and she glanced over her shoulder, her surprise heightening when she saw Killian. She glared at him before turning back to the sheriff.

"You could've hit me!" she said.

Graham didn't flinch. "I never miss." He held his hands out as if inviting the diners on either side of him to testify. The man in the booth held out the promised twenty, his face slack with awe. Graham ignored him, sauntering toward Emma in a way that set Killian's teeth on edge. "You've been avoiding me since last night, when you saw me—"

"Leaving the Mayor?" Disdain dripped from Emma's words. "And yes, that is a euphemism. I'm not avoiding you, Graham, I just have no interest in having this conversation. It's your life—I really don't care."

The tone of her voice belied her words. She was taking this hard. Even if she wouldn't admit it, the sheriff clearly meant something to her and he let her down. And, in the same night, so had Killian.

The bell jingled above the door as Emma stormed out. Graham caught it as it closed, rushing out into the chill air. Killian twisted around in his seat, watching through the window as Graham chased after her, reminding himself it was none of his business, she could handle herself.

And then he got up, threw enough money on the table to cover his meal and hurried out the door after them. Just in time to hear the sheriff call to her.

"If you don't care, then why are you so upset?"

"I'm not upset," Emma called back without looking, but Killian didn't need to see her face to hear the bare edge in her voice.

"If that were true, you'd be at the bar with me," the sheriff said, jogging up in front of her and skidding to halt, forcing her to stop as well and giving Killian the chance he needed to catch up. Neither seemed to notice him. "Having a drink, and not running away."

Emma shook her head, blonde curls bouncing against her black shirt.

Killian chose that moment to make his presence known. "Everything all right?"

Graham started, blinking at Killian like he appeared out of thin air, but Emma didn't even glance behind her.

"I've got this," she said, still glaring at the sheriff. "Look, it's none of my business. Really."

Graham took a step forward, looking at Emma like she was the only one there. "Look, can we please talk about this?" There was a note of pleading in his voice that sounded painfully familiar. "I need you to understand."

Emma crossed her arms. "Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe so I can understand?"

"Then make an appointment with Archie."

He shifted even closer, making Killian's hackles rise, but Emma held her ground, so—despite the fact that he wanted to push the sheriff back—he held his as well.

"I want to talk to you." Graham's eyes caught the light of the streetlamps as they flickered over Emma's face.

She didn't answer, just tried to push past him, headed for, well, Killian wasn't quite sure where she was headed, but clearly away from the sheriff. He latched onto Graham's arm when the man tried to follow.

"That's enough, mate, I think she's made her feelings quite clear."

The sheriff ripped his arm away, the fabric burning against Killian's fingers at the speed.

"You don't know what it's like with her," he said running after her, pulling back around to face him. "I don't feel anything! Can you understand that?"

"Bad relationship? Yeah, I understand a bad relationship," Emma said. "I just don't want to talk about yours."

Killian flinched. Had her eyes flicked to him for just a brief second? Or had he imagined that?

"Look, I know you and Regina—" He cut off the sentence, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I should have told you about that before you took the job. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Emma demanded. "Why the secrecy? We—"

"Oh, you're one to talk about secrecy, Emma Swan," Graham pleaded, despite the accusatory nature of his words. "You should know better than anyone that spilling your secrets isn't easy."

"But why, Graham?" Emma asked, her voice soft. "We're adults. You can do what you want."

He remembered this Emma. He hadn't seen her in a long time and the realization hit him low in the gut, because the last time he heard that tone she had been speaking to him. That voice, the way she looked at Graham, that told him that this was more than just infatuation, more than just hurt pride. She cared about the sheriff. She cared about him the way she used to care about Killian.

 _And can you blame her?_

Killian didn't know who Graham had been in Misthaven, but everything he knew about the sheriff told him that this was a good man. A far better man than he was and far more fit for a princess' company.

Graham sighed, kicking at the dirt. "I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now."

"Why do you care how I look at you?"

Graham closed the distance between him and Emma, planting his hands on either side of her face as he ducked down and kiss her.

Killian immediately recanted his good opinion of the sheriff. Red clouding his vision, he seized the man's shoulder with his hook, pulling so hard the soft leather vest split. Emma gasped, staggering as Killian hauled Graham away from her and hit him in the jaw with his fist.

Graham dropped.

"Killian, what the hell!" She looked at him, a little breathlessly, before turning her attention to the man holding his jaw. "How much have you been drinking?"

Graham stared up at Emma, his face slack, his eyes unfocused. "Did you see that?"

"See you make a right git of yourself?" Killian crossed his arms. "Yeah, got an eyeful of that."

"Would you stop it," Emma snapped. "Or I'm hauling you down to the station for assaulting an officer."

"Then you can throw him in the cell next to mine."

Graham rubbed his jaw. "I'm sorry…I just…I needed to feel something."

Her jaw clenched, her hands already in tight fists. "Yeah, well that's not happening with me. At all." She spun, practically running across the street, her hair a golden streamer behind her.

Graham apparently didn't know when to quit because he hauled himself to his feet, looking for all the world like he meant to go after her. Killian stepped in front of him, earning a glare as he pushed the man back.

"Nope, mate," he said, "you've already made a fool of yourself enough for one night, don't you think?" If looks could kill, he'd be a smoking pile of ash right now, but the sheriff took a step back, shoving his hands in his pocket and heading opposite the direction Emma had taken. Killian sighed, opening and closing his hand. The skin still stung a little. That probably hadn't gotten him any points with Emma—she certainly could have handled the situation herself—but it certainly was satisfying. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.

He watched Graham go for a moment, before heading back to Granny's, intent on settling his tab. Ruby stood at the window, one eyebrow raised as he came back in.

"What was that about?" Blood red nails tapped against her arm.

"Hardly our business, don't you think?" he asked, picking up his beer and downing the last of it.

"You seemed to think it was yours."

"You'd be surprised the foolishness a man will commit when he's drunk," Killian said, hiding a grimace at the memories that dredged up. He pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the table.

Out of curiosity, he meandered over to the dart board to see what the sheriff had been using for target practice. It was a small picture of a deer, the last shot sitting quite near the middle of the tiny black dot that was the stag's nose. Killian let out a low whistle. Whoever Graham had been in their realm, he had most certainly been skilled.

But had he been a hero? Or a villain?

Judging from his conduct tonight, Killian had the sneaking suspicion that it was the latter.

# # #

There were flowers. On the kitchen table.

Emma paused, unsure whether they were _Sorry I was an asshole and kissed you last night_ flowers or _Sorry I was an asshole and punched your boss_ flowers.

She decided she didn't care.

It was too early in the morning for this.

She grabbed the dumb bouquet—Emma Swan was not, nor had she ever been a flowers kind of girl, not at all, not for anyone—and carried them over to the trashcan just as Mary Margaret came trotting out of the bedroom, several composition books in one arm and her favorite tea mug clutched in her fingers.

"Oh! Hey, wait! What are you doing?" She stopped short, sighing as Emma dunked the flowers in the can and walked away.

"If either of them thinks flowers will work on me…"

"No, those…" She paused, sighing again. "…were mine." She turned on Emma, eyes narrowed. "Either of them?"

Emma hurried to take her hoodie down from the peg by the door. She waited a beat, busying herself with sliding one arm and then the other into the sleeves before she attempted to change the subject. She knew what the other woman would say if she found out about Killian. She did not need Mary Margaret on her case as well as Graham.

"So, are they from David?" she asked, flipping her hair out from underneath the sweater.

"No. Uh…"

The silence pulled Emma back around, her eyes studying her roommate's face. Was Mary Margaret blushing?

"Dr. Whale," she finished, her voice soft.

"Why would Dr. Whale—" She snapped her mouth shut at the look Mary Margaret gave her, blaming her early morning, caffeine deficit brain fog for not coming to the obvious conclusion sooner. "Are you serious?"

Mary Margaret groaned. "I know—it's a disaster." She avoided Emma's gaze as she put the books down on the coffee table, probably so that she could double check that there were little stars and hearts in all of them, telling the kids what a good job they'd done. Mary Margaret personified encouraging.

"No! That's amazing," Emma said, heading for the fridge and away from the voice that wondered what might be different if she had one teacher like Mary Margaret as a child. "You're getting over David."

"First of all, there's nothing to get over and second of all…" Mary Margaret made a karate chop motion, nodding to herself. "It's just a one night stand."

Emma chuckled, locating the orange juice and shutting the fridge with a nice, solid thunk. "Not according to those flowers."

"Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have called him," Mary Margaret said, opening the sugar bowl.

"Oh my god." Emma set the pitcher down on the table, shaking her head at her roommate as she grabbed a glass. Mary Margaret had no clue what she was doing. "You called him? That is definitely not a one night stand."

"Well, okay…I'm still learning, I—" She turned around, an embarrassed smile on her face. "I never had one before. I feel guilty." She twisted her hands, the smile reversing.

"Hey, no judgment here," Emma said. "One nighters is as far as I ever go."

Mary Margaret shrugged. "Well, yeah. That's because you're—" She froze, biting her lip.

Emma tilted her head. "Because I'm what?" She tried not to pop the last 't'. Tried.

"Never mind." Her roommate turned back to the sugar bowl, scooping out a healthy (or unhealthy depending on your perspective) helping of sugar.

"No. Tell me–what do I do?" Emma set her glass back on the table, the juice sloshing slightly with the force. She crossed her arms.

Mary Margaret took a breath, dumping the spoonful of sugar into her empty tea mug. When she turned back to Emma, she wore an apologetic, but stern expression. "You're just protecting yourself. With that wall you put up."

Emma rolled her eyes and took the pitcher of juice back to the fridge. "Just because I don't get emotional over men—"

"You don't get emotional over men?" Though her tone was chiding, the corners of Mary Margaret's mouth turned up in amusement. "Uh, the floral abuse tells a different story."

Emma snorted. "What story is that?"

Mary Margaret leaned against the counter, looking smug. "The one that's obvious to everyone except, apparently, you—that you have feelings for Graham." She gave Emma a quick once over, lips pursed thoughtfully. "At least, I assumed it was Graham."

And the conversation needed to go somewhere else, desperately.

"I have to finish breakfast," she muttered, circling around to the other side of the counter and digging around in the bread box. She had just enough time for an English muffin, if there were any left. "I'm going to be late."

Mary Margaret smirked. "There's that wall."

Emma glared as her roommate retrieved the flowers, putting them in the vase she now noticed sitting on the counter. She had been so focused on figuring out the flowers earlier she missed it. If only she'd been a little more observant, this conversation would not be happening.

"I'm just—cautious," she retorted. _And if you had had your heart trampled as thoroughly as mine has been, you'd be cautious about who you gave it out to too._ But she didn't say that out loud. It would raise too many questions and invoke too much pity. Not that she wasn't apparently getting a healthy dose of pity right now. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Oh, true. True." Mary Margaret nodded, her eyes cutting right through Emma. "But, Emma, that wall of yours? It may keep out pain but it also may keep out love." She gave a little shrug, starting to leave, freezing, and returning for the flowers.

She didn't say another word before Emma left for work, but what she already had haunted Emma. Mary Margaret's gaze held unsettling wisdom, like she knew more about heartache than someone with a quiet life should know.

It was easy for Mary Margaret to preach about love, Emma thought as she settled in at her desk. Graham hadn't been in yesterday—thankfully—and it didn't look like he'd showed yet this morning, which was fine by her. Let him fool around with Regina while there was work to be done. At least Henry wouldn't be in the house this time.

Yes, it was easy for Mary Margaret, it was clear enough that she had never known true suffering. She had an innocence that only comes with sleeping in the same bed every night. She was trusting in a way that only someone who had never been betrayed could be. She wore floral skirts and cute little gold earrings and was soft and girly and all the things Emma had never been allowed to be. Mary Margaret would find someone to settle down with and if she was really lucky, he wouldn't get bored with her in a decade or two and go searching for fresher pastures.

Still, Emma couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that while Mary Margaret may have mentioned Graham by name, she was really talking about Killian…

And that was enough of that.

Emma shook her head, reaching for a pile of paperwork and slapping it down on the desk.

A dart sat just off to the side, and Emma couldn't remember which of them placed it there. Probably Graham. She was abysmal at darts. She picked it up anyways, hefting it in her hand, eyes sliding to the dartboard that had been nailed to the wall for as long as she had worked here. Biting he her lip in concentration, she stood and threw.

As expected, she missed completely, the dart bounding off the wall and landing on the floor.

With a sigh, Emma went to retrieve it.

There was a soft, feminine chuckle and Regina clicked into the room. "Our taxes always hard at work, I see."

Emma reached up, pulling the darts from the board instead of looking at Regina. "Graham isn't here. I assumed he took a sick day—with you." She smiled coldly.

Regina took a few measured steps into the room, all in grey and black today, her coat slung over her shoulders like she was some foreign dictator. The haughty lift of her head didn't do anything to dispel that image.

"Oh, so you're aware of us? Good—that's why I'm here. Because I'm also aware of your relationship with him."

Emma scoffed, tossing the darts on the table. "I don't have a relationship with him."

"Oh?" Regina stalked further into the room, surveying it like she owned the place. Some might argue that she did. "So, nothing's ever happened between the two of you?" She smiled when Emma froze in her steps. "You forget, Miss Swan, I have eyes everywhere."

"Nothing that meant anything," Emma said, shoving her hands in her back pockets and squaring off against Regina.

"Well, of course not. Because you're incapable of feeling anything for anyone."

Emma clenched her jaw, biting her tongue to keep from pointing out that Regina was wrong. However, the fact that the only evidence she had involved Henry was not going to help her case.

Regina surveyed her coolly. "There's a reason you're alone, isn't there?"

Mary Margaret was one thing, but this woman had no right to come in and start throwing judgement about the way Emma lived. After all, Regina was the one who had benefitted most from it.

"All due respect," she said, trying to keep her tone civil. "The way I live my life is my business."

"It is until it infringes on my life." Regina closed the distance between them, leaning in, eyes locked on Emma. Surprisingly, the concern furrowing her brow seemed genuine. "Stay away from Graham. You may think you're doing nothing, but you're putting thoughts in his head. Thoughts that are not in his best interest. You are leading him on a path to self-destruction. Stay away." She hovered there, inches from Emma's face for a moment. "Have a good day."

She spun on her heel, striding down the hall, leaving a flabbergasted Emma wondering how she was supposed to stay away from Graham when they worked together. With a shrug, she picked up the darts and tried again.

# # #

Several hours and a few games later—with each concluding more atrociously than the last—the phone on Emma's desk rang. She jumped for it, even if it was just a cat stuck in a tree, she would be grateful for the distraction.

"Sheriff's office," she said in a clipped, business-like voice.

"Emma?"

"Mary Margaret?"

"Hey, I'm sorry to bother you at work, but have you seen Graham today?"

Emma groaned, collapsing back in the chair. "Okay, I am not having this discussion again. I'm hanging up."

"No—wait!" The tense edge in Mary Margaret's voice carried, even though Emma already had the receiver halfway to the cradle. "Are you still there?"

"Uh huh," Emma said, pressing the speaker back to her ear. "What's up?"

"It's just—he was here earlier….and…"

"Was he drunk?" Emma demanded. That might explain why Graham hadn't shown today. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. No," Mary Margaret murmured. A sigh drifted across the line. "He was just…odd. Asking me about how we met and whether I believed in other lives…"

"Sounds like he's been talking to Henry," Emma said. She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaling deeply.

"That's the weird thing," Mary Margaret said, something rustled on the other line. "When I said the same thing, he looked at me like that was the first thing I said that made sense. It was like the idea never occurred to him before."

Emma sighed, picking up one of the darts and tapping it against the desk. "I should probably go after him, shouldn't I?"

Mary Margaret hummed. "He's running a fever Emma. I don't think he's thinking clearly."

"Fine." Still grumbling, Emma hung up the phone and grabbed her keys.

She half hoped she was wrong about where Graham was going, but when she turned the corner for Regina's house, the squad car sat at the curb. She pulled the bug up face it, climbing into her passenger seat and propping the door open. She didn't have to wait long, Graham came tromping down the walkway five minutes after she arrived, a determined set to his jaw.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Emma, eyeing her like a caged animal might.

"Hey," she said, hoisting herself out of the car. "Hear you're having a rough day."

"Who says?" He didn't look good. Sweat pasted his hair to his forehead and his skin looked pale and clammy. He shifted back, as if to run.

"Pretty much everyone," she said. "I think maybe you need to go home and get some rest."

He looked at her for a moment longer, then shrugged her words away. "I'm fine."

"No, Graham, you're not fine." She stepped in front of him, pulling him up short and forcing him to meet her eyes. "You just went to see a nine-year-old for help."

The light in his eyes shone, an almost feral gleam as he took half a step closer. "He's the only one making any sense." His voice was soft, intense. The deep conviction rattled Emma.

"What's going on?" she asked, closing her eyes and already regretting what she was going to ask next. "What's really going on?"

She braced herself for whatever was coming, sure she was in for round two of last night's conversation. The fact that she wanted a round two of last night's conversation actually surprised her. Emma swallowed.

"It's my heart, Emma," he said, not one drop of intensity gone from his voice. "I need to find it."

"Okay." Emma took a step back. If he wanted to go the high school English route, she could handle that, it was better than just blurting things out. "So, how are you going to do that?"

"I just need to follow the wolf."

And now they had graduated from uncomfortable to weird.

"What? What wolf?"

"From my dreams," Graham said as though she should know exactly what he was talking about. The glint in his eye grew brighter. "It's going to help me find my heart."

"I'm sorry...I thought we were talking in a metaphor here." She tried to keep the condescension out of her voice. What he was talking about was impossible. It was crazy. It was exactly the kind of thing Henry would come up with. He must be really sick if Henry's stories made sense to him. "You really think you don't have a heart?"

"It's the only thing that makes any sense," he shot back. "It's the only thing that explains why I don't feel anything."

Archie, she was sure, would have some complicated answer for why Graham felt detached from his emotions. He would be able to explain it. Something about Graham's frustration with his relationship with Regina causing him to dissociate or whatever. But Emma wasn't Archie, she couldn't break the brain down into neat little pieces—well, hers she could, it was how she survived, but not someone else's—she only had actions.

She took a step closer, not sure whether it was her own idea or the pull of those eyes. They really were burning right into her.

"Listen to me, Graham," she said. "You have a heart."

He pressed his mouth into a tight line, shaking his head.

"I can prove it," she continued at the same time as she thought, _I am going to regret this_.

Painfully aware that the last time they had been this close he had kissed her, she slid her hand between his vest and shirt. There was a ragged tear in the fabric of his vest—from Killian. She pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the person in front of her. There. His heart pulsed beneath his skin, warm. She took a breath, trying to find words. He stared, barely breathing.

"See? It's beating. It's real." She waited, but he still didn't seem to believe her. With her other hand, she took his, pressing it to the same spot. "Feel that? That is your heart."

Under her hand, she felt muscle and bone move as Graham breathed in and she unconsciously shifted closer.

"No," Graham said, his jaw tightening. He pushed her hand away, backing away like she could force him to believe her. "It's the curse."

Emma scoffed. "You can't really believe that's tr—"

A blur of silver streaked behind Graham, solidifying into the shape of a giant, shaggy wolf. A wolf with one black eye and one red. _The_ wolf. Emma's jaw dropped open so fast she was surprised it didn't hit the pavement.

Concern clouded Graham's resolve. "What?"

When Emma didn't answer right away, he spun, his shoulders tightening when he spotted the beast. The wolf loped off, disappearing behind a row of bushes. Graham turned slowly back to Emma, something different about his bearing, the feral look back in his eyes. He caught her gaze for just a moment before sprinting after the wolf.

With a groan, Emma chased him, because naturally White Fang wouldn't use the road so they could follow him in the car.

They chased the wolf down three blocks and into the woods. These trees were tamed, civilized, without any messy underbrush like the woods just outside the hospital and no low branches to whack you on your ass. There was grass, not scraggly weeds and dirt. The reason soon became clear as the open land morphed into a cemetery. Great stone slabs stood on end, bearing names like Olson and Crane, names she didn't recognize. Well, she did, but she doubted Mary-Kate or Ashley had any relatives in Storybrooke. No names she could attach to anyone she'd met here.

Balto paused, his mismatched eyes judging her as gasped for breath.

"Graham!" She grabbed his arm. "Graham, be careful."

He took a step toward the wolf. "He's my friend. He won't hurt us."

The wolf threw its head back, a soft howl coming from his throat. He looked back at Graham, yipping softly and took off again, racing past a large, stone building.

Graham took off after him and, like the idiot she was, Emma followed. If she ended up getting mauled, she was suing Graham for his badge. And maybe the city for not vetting their employees mental health properly. Oh, Regina would love that.

The wolf was gone.

Emma scanned the ground, looking for a sign of where it went—probably not a good idea to have an animal like that wandering so close to town—but she found nothing. Literally like it had never been there.

Poof. Gone. Not even a stray hair to indicate where it went.

Graham paid no attention to the ground. He stared up at the stone mausoleum with wide eyes.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's my heart." He sounded far off. "It's in there."

Emma studied first the crypt and then Graham and then the crypt again. It wasn't big, as far as mausoleum's went. She'd snuck into cemeteries and goofed off with a boyfriend or two in larger. Had even considered sleeping in one, once, back when she first went on the run. She hadn't. Just the thought of being in the cemetery by herself creeped her out. More for the fact that it was out of the way and dark, than the idea of ghosts. The stone was dull gray, not polished marble like the ones she'd seen in Kansas, with ivy starting to overtake the walls on either side. A large, red door stretched up. And just under the peaked roof was a crest, a set of stags horns pointed inward.

Metal clinked against metal and Graham held up a flashlight, the light already on and cutting through the gathering dusk.

"I have to look in there," he said.

"Oh, no!" She lunged for him again, holding on with both hands now. "Stop. Stop."

He whirled on her "I have to get in there, please—" He broke off with a quiet noise somewhere between frustration and desperation.

"Graham, come on!" She cut in front of him, stopping him with a hand to his chest. He barely noticed, but he did stop. "You really think that your heart is in there?" Her stomach sank as he nodded. "Okay. Let's find out." She examined the door, shaking the brass handle. It barely moved. "Come on!"

With a glance back at Graham, who watched with a rabid fervor, she kicked in the door. The lock snapped with a satisfying click and the door swung open. Inside was dusty and cramped, much of the space occupied by a marble coffin. Most of the shelves sat empty, some of them with grimy urns. Graham grabbed one, searching like something might be hiding in the shallow recess behind. Emma took is all in, the dirt, the leaves on the floor, the windows crowded with cobwebs. This was wrong. This was very wrong.

She followed Graham further into the room, letting the door swing freely behind her.

"It's got to be in here. Somewhere." His flashlight caught the dust motes floating down from the ceiling. He crouched by the corner and pressed against the wall. "There's got to be a hidden door. A lever." Setting the flashlight down in a niche, he tried to pry the lid off an urn. "Something."

That was enough for Emma. "Graham." Their bodies collided in the tiny space, his jacket tacky beneath her fingers as she halted him. She gained all of this attention in that movement. "Hey. Graham, there's nothing in here."

"There has to be," he said, the wild look still bright in his eyes. "If there isn't, then—"

"It's okay," she cut in. She tightened her grip on him, afraid he might tear away from her again. "It's going to be okay."

Before she could say or do anything else, a strident voice cut through the dark space. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Graham's flashlight automatically came up, the light illuminating a grimacing Regina, her hand thrown up to sheild her eyes. Outside it was nearly dark.

What the hell was Regina doing here?

As she slipped out of the crypt with Graham hot on her heels, she voiced the question out loud. "What are you doing here?"

"Bringing flowers to my father's grave like I do every Wednesday." The other woman held a bouquet of white roses aloft, brandishing them like a weapon. She glared at Emma.

Graham stepped in front of Emma "Don't blame her," he said, sauntering reluctantly down the stairs. He stopped at the edge, leaving the rest of the distance for Regina to cross. "It's my fault. I wanted to look in there."

"Really?" Regina's dark eyes glinted in the dim moonlight as she approached Graham, and Emma might have been mistaken, but it seemed the mayor stood a little straighter. Was that concern on her face? Or something darker? "Why? What were you looking for?"

"Nothing," Graham said in a soft, defeated tone. "It was, uh… It was nothing."

"You don't look well, dear." Somehow, Regina's observation missed concern and landed on condescending. She took Graham's hand, pulling hard enough to nearly yanked him off his feet. "Let's take you home."

"I… I don't want to go home." He twisted out of her grasp, his arm flying wildly, but stopping just short of where Emma stood at his shoulder. "Not with you."

Oh, shit.

This was great for Graham, really, but also a little annoyed that he was doing this before she could make an escape. She held perfectly still, hoping Regina's pride would keep her from acknowledging Emma's existence.

"Oh?" Regina asked, her voice deadly calm. Her lip curled, her eyes narrowing at Graham. "But you'll go with her."

Emma took a step back. "Hey. This is between you two. Leave me out of it."

The look Regina turned on Emma dropped the temperature ten degrees.

"She's right," Graham said, drawing Regina's ire away from Emma. "It's between us. And things have to change."

"And I wonder why that is all of a sudden."

"It has nothing to do with her," he protested. He sounded confident, sure, more present than he had since their conversation last night. "You know, I've realized that I don't feel anything, Regina. And I know now it's not me. It's you." He shifted, taking on a surer stance as he stared Regina down.

"So, you're leaving me for her?"

Graham shook his head. "I'm leaving you for me."

A surge of pride rushed through Emma, and a little something else, a light, fluttery feeling in her chest that she was afraid to put a name on.

Regina wasn't done though. She took several, deliberate steps toward Graham, looking up at him though her eyelashes. "Graham, you're not thinking straight."

He didn't fall for it.

"Actually, for the first time, I am." He lifted his chin, his accent thickening a little, pulling his words low in his throat. "I'd rather have nothing than settle for less. _Nothing_ is better than what we have. I need to feel something, Regina, and the only way to do that is to give myself a chance."

His words hit Regina hard, her breath wooshing out before a ragged painful inhale. She closed the between them, her hand going to his chest in a practiced, familiar way.

"Graham…" Her lips trembled. Her voice was barely a whisper.

Emma felt a pang of remorse. Not matter how huge this step was for Graham, no matter how right this was for him, it couldn't be easy for Regina. Even now, it brought up painful memories that reminded Emma that she'd been standing in that spot once upon a time, listening as someone she had trusted told her that she was not enough. She pitied Regina in that moment, because whatever else was going on here, it was clear the woman felt something.

Graham clearly didn't share Emma's feelings. He pushed Regina's caress away with a cool detachment that spoke volumes about how very different this relationship had been. There were no tears in Graham's eyes as he laid the final nail.

"I'm sorry. It's over." His eyes found Emma, igniting that fluttery feeling again, but before he could suggest ending this hair-brained quest, Regina's quiet, restrained voice cut him off.

"I don't know what I ever did to you, Miss Swan, to deserve this," she said. Her voice wavered. "To have you keep coming after everything I hold dear."

"I told you, it's not her." Graham tried to step between them, but Regina's gaze still found Emma over his shoulder.

"None of this happened until she got here."

And there went all of Emma's pity. Really, who would be surprised when Regina sounded like a spoiled child whose favorite toy had just been taken away. Maybe that was her problem. She saw people as objects that belonged to her, regardless of whether they wanted to.

"I'm sorry, but did you ever stop to think that maybe the problem isn't with me, but with you?" Emma asked before she thought better of it.

"Excuse me?"

"Henry came and found me," Emma said. "Graham confided in me." She circled behind Graham, her eyes on Regina the entire time. "Both were miserable. Maybe, Madam Mayor you need to take a good hard look in the mirror and ask yourself why that is." She stuffed her hands in her back pockets, elbows akimbo, leaning forward, giving Regina a taste of her own interrogation tactics. "Why is everyone running away from you?"

For a moment, Regina stared, shock slackening her features, then she pursed her lips. Quick as a flash, she lunged and the next thing Emma knew, pain exploded across her temple. The force of Regina's blow threw her into Graham, who tried to catch Emma, but only succeeded in getting knocked on his ass.

Emma kept her feet, turning on Regina and slinging one right at her kisser. Regina dropped her flowers, but didn't fall, couldn't fall because Emma had her by the arms and was slamming her up against the crypt's doors, ready to claw the woman's eyes out. Regina might be able to handle herself with the other soccer moms, but Emma had grown up fighting for everything she had. Regina had no idea what she just started.

A pair of solid arms wrapped around Emma, hauling her away from the mayor before she could land another blow.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Graham chanted in Emma's ear until she wrenched herself away from him, forcing him to practically drop her.

Regina had blood on her lip. She wiped it away with her thumb before retrieving her flowers.

Emma took a breath, clearing her head as she walked a fast circle, stopping right behind Regina. She clenched her jaw, but decided against the rage boiling in her veins.

"Not worth it."

Regina watched as she passed, but once Emma broke eye contact, she didn't look back, didn't stop. She was not going to let Regina drag her into a needless brawl over some guy. Emma did not brawl over guys. Especially not when it meant explaining to Henry why she handed his mother's ass to her on a silver platter.

There was the murmur of conversation behind, quick and short before Graham's footsteps hurried after her, his long stride catching up quickly.

She thought he might say something, but he kept silent for the entire walk back to their cars.

"We should go back to the station so I can take a look at that," Graham said, brushing her bangs back from her eyes. His hand hovered, a breath of air separating his skin from hers.

Emma nodded and pulled her keys from her pocket as he walked away. It scared her, this light feeling in her chest, both because she couldn't name it and because it was definitely linked to Graham.

As she passed the apartment, she almost chickened out, but it was still early enough that Mary Margaret would be up—of course Mary Margaret would be up, it barely turned dark twenty minutes ago—and if she saw whatever damage Regina had done, she'd be asking questions. And the answers to those questions would mean a repeat of this morning's conversation. And a repeat of this morning's conversation was not what Emma wanted.

So why was she following Graham back to the sheriff's station?

Her stomach flip-flopped for no good reason as she stepped out of the bug and went inside after Graham.

Her head pounded as she slunk down the hall, wishing she had a pair of Advil right about now.

"Why don't you get comfortable? I'll grab the first aid kit."

Emma nodded. A mistake. The throbbing intensified. She took a seat on the nearest flat object, the desk behind hers, shrugging off her jacket and throwing it over the back of her chair. After a moment's thought, she pulled the hairband off her wrist and pulled her hair back, careful not to brush her eyelid in the process.

Graham returned with the first aid kit and a refillable ice pack, the type you saw on old sitcoms. He dumped both on the desk, flipping the kit open and nodding approvingly before he turned to Emma, hefting the ice pack in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he said, gently brushing her bangs back and pressing the ice pack to her temple. It stung for a brief moment, but a second later, a blissful cool washed over the throbbing skin, she took the ice pack from him, freeing Graham. His shoulders slumped as he fiddled with the first aid kit. "I don't know what came over me. How I lost my mind."

Emma shrugged. "It's okay. You were tired and feverish… And heartbroken." She couldn't quite meet his eyes, afraid that if she did that he would see right through to how much she understood him. After all, heartbreak was her oldest friend.

Graham pulled out the peroxide, unscrewing the cap and soaking a cotton square before he finally turned back to Emma. "I don't know why I let myself get caught up with her."

"Because it was easy," she said, "and safe." She pulled the ice pack away from her eye as he approached. "Not feeling anything's an attractive option when what you feel sucks."

She should know. And she knew the consequences of choosing the easy, safe thing too, didn't she? It was why Henry had been born in jail after all. And wasn't that exactly what she did last night when she ran instead of talking things out with him?

She couldn't look away as he took the ice pack, setting it down, before placing his hand on her head to keep the hair back. A messy, spasm of pain hit her as he dabbed at the cut above her eye. She gasped.

"Felt that," she said with half a smile.

Graham answered with one of his own.

He dabbed at the cut again, gentle despite the bite of the disinfectant, doing his best to work around her continued wincing. It had been a long time since anyone had been this gentle or patient with her. He bit his lip, completely focused on his task and Emma found it thoroughly distracting. It reminded her of—.

But no, he wasn't Killian.

Sure, he also had good taste in leather jackets, but his eyes were the wrong shade of blue and he was a little too tall and his hair curled in a way Killian's never had, not even in the rain.

Graham's hand moved, cupping the back of her head as he pulled the cotton away, examining his handiwork, apparently oblivious to Emma's staring.

"All better?"

"Yeah," she answered softly.

He turned away.

No. This wasn't Killian.

And wasn't that what made him exactly so appealing?

Despite what he said to Regina, a part of her couldn't forget that he looked at _her_ after he said it. Yes, he left Regina for himself, but maybe a little bit for her too.

Maybe Graham was exactly who he appeared to be.

Her stomach twisted again and Emma finally found a name for the feeling that had buzzed around her chest since he said those words: hope.

Did she dare risk it?

She was so used to people _not_ choosing her, but he had.

He looked right at Regina—at the easy, safe choice—and turned away from her.

Maybe she could too.

Mary Margaret had been right about those walls, and if Graham and her roommate could do it, she could love without walls up, couldn't she?

Graham tilted his head when he turned back to her, one corner of his mouth hitching up uncertainly. "What?"

Emma stood, feeling like the floor might fall out from under her at any moment but moving forward, closing the distance between them. He didn't move, his expression wary, even as understanding lit up his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and carefully she leaned forward, her lips catching against his, her hands went to his shoulder, his warm on her waist. He stood still for just a second, not in shock, more like a hunter afraid that the wrong move might scare his quarry. The grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her against him as he kissed her back, his nose tickling her cheek.

His shoulders stiffened and he pushed her away with a sharp exhale, catching himself on the desk as he sat heavily.

"Graham," Emma asked, "are you okay?"

He looked up at her, as though seeing her for the first time.

"I remember," he breathed. His mouth curled up in smile.

"Graham?"

He nodded, serious now with eyes that burned through her like she was the answer to some question. "I remember."

"You remember what?"

Tears came to his eyes, his breathing shaky as he cupped her face in his hands staring at her with a wonder that made Emma's heart race. It should have scared her, the way his eyes filled with a pride that couldn't have anything to do with her.

But it felt damn good.

A tear slipped down his cheek. "Thank you."

He leaned close again and her eyes slid shut.

She heard a noise, like someone punched Graham, and his hands slipped away. He fell.

Her eyes flew open. She lunged, grabbing him, trying to keep him from falling. "Graham!"

They both ended up on the floor.

Frantic, Emma rolled him onto his back, shaking his shoulder and calling his name again and again. His head lolled limply, his torso heavy and unmoving in her arms. Feeling her own heart skip several beats, Emma leaned down, checking for the telltale tickle of warm air against her cheek.

Nothing.

# # #

Killian sprinted down the hallway, heart hammering. He could hear the panic in Emma's voice, the sense of something wrong as she called the sheriff's name over and over again. Just as suddenly as the shouts started, they cut off. He rounded the corner, eyes scanning the seemingly empty office.

A broken gasp came from behind one of the desks.

Breath lodged in his throat Killian ventured into the room, following the soft sobs to find Emma, her back to a desk with the sheriff lying limply in her arms. He sank to his knees next to the pair in an instant.

"Are you alright?" he asked. He hissed as he caught sight of the scratch and the purpling skin over her eye. Bloody hell, he'd been uneasy all day, especially after he heard account of Graham's strange behavior—that was why he was here in the first place—but he hadn't actually thought Graham would ever go so far as to attack Emma. "Emma, are you alright?" he ground out, only his own compunctions about attacking the helpless kept him from hauling the prostrate sheriff into one of the jail cells and throwing away the key. "Did he hurt you?"

Her eyes opened, staring at him blankly. "What?" She looked down, her lip trembling. A tear sparkled on path down her cheek. "He just—We were—He's not breathing. He fell." Her voice was breathy like a lost child's. Emma sat up suddenly, shoving Graham's lifeless body at Killian and scrambling for something on the desk. She pulled down a phone, the spiral cord slapping against the desk and emitting a hollow, metal sound. On her knees, she made quick work dialing the shortest phone number Killian had ever seen—not that he had seen many. "Hello? Yes, hello this is Deputy Swan, I need an ambulance at the sheriff's station, Sheriff Humbert has collapsed and—" She swallowed. "And he's not breathing."

She paused, listening intently to the voice on the other line. Cradling the receiver between her ear and her shoulder, she tugged at the sheriff's body.

"Killian," she muttered, "help me."

Killian's head jerked up, surprised by the soft plea and the events of the last several seconds. Without trying to follow what Emma was doing, he did his best to help as she positioned the sheriff on his back. She nodded, dismissing him, still listening to the person on the other line. Blonde curls shifted as she leaned over the sheriff, highlighting the long scratch again.

Emma tilted Graham's head back, holding onto the phone as she checked for breath. "No, nothing." She listened again. "Uh huh. Two and check?"

She handed the phone to Killian, grabbing Graham's chin in one hand and pinching his nose in the other. Then, to Killian's utter astonishment, she kissed the sheriff. No, he realized, she was breathing into his open mouth. Once. Twice. Emma tilted her head again, listening for breath and holding her hand out for the phone.

"Nothing," she bit out again. "You're sure they're on their way. Yeah, yeah, okay, what next?" She checked for his pulse. "No." She caught her lip between her teeth as she listened this time, a brief flash of trepidation crossing her face. "Are you sure I'm allowed to—Okay, yeah." She shifted closer, placing her hands above Graham's breastbone. "Wait, where again? Okay, I—What?" Emma swallowed. "Okay, right." She took a deep breath, setting her jaw before shoving all her weight onto the sheriff, compressing his chest in rapid succession, counting softly under her breath.

Killian watched in awe.

Sirens cut through the evening, the long warbling sound approaching them rapidly. Emma looked up, pausing in her ministrations. Killian caught the phone as it dropped from her shoulder, narrowly saving the sheriff from getting clubbed in the face. A voice squawked out of the earpiece and she snatched it back.

"Do you hear them?" she asked. "Yeah, no, he's still got no a pulse. Again? But they're—Right, again." She took up the compressions again, continuing her count. "Hook, head to the front and show them back here."

He didn't quite understand what was going on, but one thing was clear, she was trying to revive Graham. Everything Killian knew told him this man was dead, but Emma still believed differently. He didn't understand it, but he wouldn't question it. He stood swiftly, loping to the station's front door just as the ambulance screeched to a stop in front of the building.

A man and a woman climbed out of the ambulance, joining a third comrade who was exiting the back along with a metal cot on wheels.

Killian stopped in his tracks, blinking at the bizarre scene. He clearly needed to get around town more often.

"You the one that made the call," the woman asked.

"Er—no, I—That was Em—Deputy Swan, she's with the sheriff now. Shall we?" Killian gestured behind him, toward the door.

The three companions shared a glance, before one of them came to hold the door, waving for Killian to hurry on ahead of them. He led them through the short, twisting halls, staying back as he ushered them into the office. The first two broke off, leaving the man with the gurney to maneuver as best he could around the desks.

The male of the pair crouched next to Emma, touching her shoulder. "Ma'am, we've got this."

Emma sat back as the woman knelt next to Graham, performing all the checks Emma had minutes before.

Slowly, Emma backed away from Graham's body, cupping her elbows as she stared at the activity on the floor. Her actions were the only thing that meant anything to Killian. He slipped into the sheriff's office, reaching her through the other door.

"Swan," he said, stopping a few feet behind her. "You're hurt."

Emma's hand went immediately to her temple and she winced. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch. Graham already—he cleaned me up already."

"What are they—" He waved helplessly at the man and woman working on the floor.

She shot him an odd look. "What?"

"That thing? And then what you did…"

"You've never seen CPR before?" Emma asked, surprise changing her face for the briefest instant.

"CPR? I don't know what that means." He wrinkled his nose, this realm had some highly unhelpful names. There was nothing in those three letters that bore and description.

"You know, CPR, for when someone drowns or has a heart attack."

The man said something to the woman and Emma was distracted as they lifted the sheriff's body onto the metal cot. She watched, the hollow look returning to her eyes.

"Ma'am, are you coming?" the second man asked.

Emma shook herself. "Uh, yeah." Without a second glance, she hurried after them.

A flash of color caught his eyes as Killian made to leave and he snagged Emma's jacket off the chair before he hurried after them, sprinting to catch up. The—Killian tried to drag the word out of his memory, he knew he'd heard the title of this particular occupation back during his first days in this realm—the…

He caught sight of the word on the door. Paramedic. That was the word.

The paramedics loaded Graham into the back of the ambulance, one of them reaching out to help Emma up as well. The first man stayed outside, helping to close the doors.

"No more room in the back," he said. "You family?"

"I'm—uh…" He looked down at the jacket. "I'm a friend of Deputy Swan's."

"Ah." The man considered him for a minute. "Jump in the front. She's probably gonna need a friend before the night's over. Her boyfriend's in bad shape."

Killian almost said something to that, but thought better of it. Better he not give the man any reason to rescind his offer of a ride.

Between the speed and the questionable driving tactics the driver employed—it made Emma's driving back in Portland look sane—they reached the hospital within five minutes.

They rushed into the hospital, a strange contraption now attached to Graham's face. Emma ran after them through the huge glass doors, but she wasn't allowed past the second set, wood ones with only small rectangles of glass for windows. She stood staring at those doors, her arms wrapped around herself.

Gently, Killian draped her jacket around her shoulders.

Emma started, barely catching the jacket before it slid off her shoulders. When she saw it was only him, she relaxed a little, tugging the red leather tight around her shoulders as she resumed watching the doors.

"He'll be okay," she said, her voice soft and broken. "He has to be okay."

"Swan," he said quietly, "Perhaps we should see about some ice for your eye."

"It's fine," she said. "Regina doesn't hit that hard."

Killian's eyebrow winged up, a scrap with the mayor? He swallowed, he thought he could guess what caused them to come to blows. It seemed the sheriff made his choice. Killian rubbed at his temples, bad form to be jealous of a dead man. And he was a dead man, Killian thought, remembering the look on the ambulance driver's face. He certainly had never seen anyone come back from the dead.

Then again, this realm had many wonders.

"What the hell happened?" a strident voice called, accompanied by the hurried clack of high heels.

They turned to find Regina striding toward them, Henry's wrist caught in her hand, her hair flying around her face with the speed of her step. The jacket she wore didn't quite match the rest of her outfit, almost like she grabbed the closest one without thought. Henry scurried after her, his backpack clutched in front of him with his free hand.

Dropping her grip on her son, Regina grabbed Emma's arm, nails digging into the leather. "What did you do?" she demanded. This close, the swollen lip was apparent, the split too fresh to blend in with her poison red lipstick.

Killian bit back a prideful smile. Emma gave as good as she got, it seemed.

Except now. She shrank back from Regina, her grip on her jacket tightening. "Nothing," she said. "He kissed me and then—"

Regina's eyes flashed. "And then?"

Emma shrugged. "He fell. One minute he was there, the next minute he was—he was gone."

"Sheriff Graham's dead?" Henry stared up at all of them with large, green eyes, his bag hanging limply at his side.

"Henry?" Emma's voice cracked. "What are you doing here?" The stupor that overtook her when they entered the hospital faded away and she turned sharp eyes on the mayor. "What _are_ you doing here? No, let me guess, you're his emergency contact too."

Regina crossed her arms. "As a matter of fact, I am. We were an item, if you'll remember, before you waltzed in and wrecked that."

"You wrecked that," Emma spat.

"Mom," Henry said in his small voice. He latched onto Regina's arm. "Please stop fighting, what happened to Sheriff Graham? Is he going to be okay?"

Regina's face softened as she looked down at her son, wincing as she pressed her lips together, she looked at Emma. "Well, Deputy Swan?"

Emma swallowed, kneeling down in front of the boy and taking his hands in hers. "I don't know, kid. But the doctors are doing everything they can, okay?" She squeezed, offering a watery smile.

Killian looked away, holding the back the smile her compassion inspired.

Emma stepped back, resuming her vigil at the emergency room doors. Several feet away, Regina took up a similar posture.

Henry hoisted his bag back onto his shoulder, heading straight for the waiting room chairs. He threw the bag into one, yanking his book out and flipping through the pages frantically until he found what he was looking for. Curious, Killian sauntered over to see a rather good depiction of Regina, a glowing, red heart in her hand.

Henry slammed the book shut, sighing when he looked up and found Killian. "Sorry, I thought—"

"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the chair next to the lad. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Henry said. "It was nothing." He pressed his lips tight together, staring at the cover and blinking rapidly.

"Who was the sheriff in you book?"

"Doesn't matter," the lad muttered. "He's dead now."

"Emma seems to think otherwise," Killian said.

For the sake of this small boy, he hoped the sheriff made it. Graham was the closest thing the boy had to a father and he was far too young to face this kind of grief. Any child was too young. Killian clenched his jaw, wondering why he thought that now when he was perfectly willing to inflict that fate in the past.

The answer of course was Emma.

She pulled at the man he had been, giving life to the scarred husk his heart became in the wake of Liam and Milah's deaths. She reminded him what it was like to be this young.

"They can't save him," Henry whispered. He stuffed his book bag into his bag, his face twisted savagely.

Before Killian could press him further, Whale slipped through the wooden doors. One look at his face and Killian knew exactly what news he bore. He stood, crossing swiftly and silently to stand at Emma's shoulder.

"Deputy Swan." Whale nodded to her. "Madam Mayor." He gave another nod to Regina. "We did everything we could, but I'm afraid we were unable to revive the sheriff."

Regina gasped. Her hands going to her mouth, eyes filling with tears. Beside her, Henry glared, his eyes full of loathing.

Emma didn't move. Killian wasn't even sure she was breathing. Tentatively, he put his hand against her back.

"Swan?"

"What happened?" she asked the doctor.

"Well, it's hard to tell without a full autopsy, it could have been a number of things."

"A number of things?" Emma's voice rose, breathy and panicked. "How many things are there that can drop a perfectly healthy person in the middle of a conversation?"

Whale shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Like I said, we'd need to do an autopsy to really know."

"It was his heart," Henry muttered, still glaring at his mother.

"Henry, not now," Regina snapped. She wiped at her cheeks, taking a deep breath as she straightened to her full height again. "Do the autopsy, doctor. We should know why this happened."

Emma shot her an odd look, but didn't protest. She stiffened, suddenly aware of Killian's hand at her back. Still clutching her jacket around her shoulders, she shrugged away from him.

"If you'd like to say goodbye, I can take you to him," Whale said.

"Yes, that would be…please," Regina said. She tilted her head, eyeing Emma coolly. "Miss Swan, would you like to come as well?"

"I—no," Emma said, neatly stepping away from Killian as Regina and Henry followed the doctor.

He caught her arm. "Emma, are you alright?"

"What do you think?" she bit out. "Somebody just died in front of me. Just when—just when I didn't think my life could get anymore screwed up. Just when I thought—" But she stopped, biting her lip and retreating, throwing up her walls so quickly, Killian was surprised he felt no physical blow. She spun on her heel, power walking right through the automatic doors.

Killian started after her, worried she might not be totally aware of her surroundings, but she didn't go far. In fact, the moment she crossed the threshold she stopped as suddenly as if she'd reached the end of a tether. He contemplated following her, but as she shuffled, shoulders bowed, to a nearby bench and sank onto it, he thought better of it. She had already rebuffed him twice, better to give her space.

And yet, he hated the idea of leaving Emma sitting on that bench, face in her hands, utterly still.

His eyes still on Emma, he approached the nurse's station. He smiled at the buxom blonde sitting at the desk.

"Pardon me, but if it's not too much trouble, I need to make a call for my friend there." He nodded to Emma sitting outside. "Might there be a telephone I could use?"

"Oh, of course," the woman said, rising to admit him behind the station. She gestured to the chair. "Take as long as you need."

He nodded his thanks, before dialing the only number in town he ever had the occasion to use.

A bored voice picked up the other line. "Granny's diner, how can I help you?" The telltale pop of gum confirmed that he had correctly identified the speaker's voice.

"Ruby," Killian said. "I need a favor."

"Hook?" The nonchalant tone dropped, as though she already knew something was up.

"Listen, I'm at the hospital with Emma…"

"Emma's at the hospital?" Ruby's voice rose a note with each word. "What's she doing there? Is she hurt? What happened? Is it—oh my god, did something happen to Henry?"

"What, why would—no, Ruby—Ruby, stop," Killian said, cutting off her deluge of words. "Emma is unhurt." Quickly, he explained what had happened, not giving Ruby room to ask more questions. "I was just hoping that you might know how to contact Emma's roommate, Mary Margaret, I believe I've seen her in the diner a few times."

"Mary Margaret? Oh, yeah, I know her," Ruby said. "I'll call her now."

Ruby's end of the line clicked and left Killian with the annoying buzz that marked the end of every phone call.

Carefully pushing the chair back in, he let himself out of the little desk area. "Much obliged," he said to the desk nurse. She batted her lashes at him and smiled.

He waited, his eyes never leaving Emma, though he stayed inside the hospital despite the fact that every fiber of his being wanted to be out there, offering comfort. However, if Emma didn't see it as such, it was little use to her, so he kept his silent vigil until Mary Margaret appeared wearing yet another brightly colored sweater. He watched as she sat next to Emma, finally coaxing her to lift her head. Wiping her cheeks, Emma accepted the arm around her shoulders as her roommate urged her to stand and led her home.

* * *

Soon, my lovelies, I promise it will happen soon.

I'd say I hope you enjoyed it, but this was sad chapter even for me.


	11. Chapter 11

Killian flattened himself against the side of the shop as the sheriff's car pulled up to the curb, holding his breath and unsure which frightened him more, the idea that Emma saw him skulking in the space between the Crocodile's shop and the hardware store or the idea that she had business with the Crocodile. He doubted the former would go well for him, but the latter had far more disturbing conclusions.

He listened as the car door slammed and Emma's boots crunched over the concrete. The jingle of the bell above the door and the slam of wood on wood brought no relief. With a long exhale, Killian hurried around the corner, peering through the window as best he could while staying out of sight. Of Emma that was, he had no idea what those watching from their shops thought of him, nor did he care. They would forget him soon enough.

She stood in the center of the shop, back to him, her hair a golden cascade of curls against the red leather of her jacket. Since the night at the hospital, their interactions had been few and far between. She was always terse and dismissive, her determination to push him away doubled. Their last true conversation had been at the sheriff's funeral when, without meeting his eyes, she thanked him for going with her to the hospital. Mary Margaret stood behind her on that occasion, lips pressed disapprovingly together as Emma stomped off with her hands shoved into her pockets. Her own thanks for the foresight Killian showed in summoning her to the hospital that night were much less begrudging.

Now, Emma jingled her keys in her hand, shoulders thrown back, the old bravado sitting comfortably on her shoulders again, as it had since the funeral. Though Killian could still see the fresh wounds in her eyes, he doubted anyone else would know how deeply Graham's death had cut her.

Her voice echoed against the glass, the words fading into each other so that he only heard their shape. She waited, leg jiggling before she strode through the curtain behind the counter.

Killian fought the urge to charge in after her, but Rumplestiltskin already suspected something and he was loathe to confirm anything. He had to trust that Emma could hold her own if the Crocodile tried anything overt. Still, his hand found the dagger at his belt, ready should he hear anything amiss.

Emma reemerged, following the pawnbroker to a cardboard box sitting on the counter.

Killian loosened his grip on the knife, taking his first deep breath in minutes.

# # #

Gold's shop was nothing like Emma expected.

From the crisp, clean cut appearance he put on around town, she figured his shop would be just as tidy, but there was crap everywhere, so much she barely knew where to look. And no sign of the proprietor anywhere among it.

Tightening her grip on her keychain, she called out, "Gold! You in here?"

A murmur caught her attention, drawing her eyes to the curtain hanging just behind the cash register. Assuming—since he told her he'd be in the shop all day when he called to say drop in at any time—the noise was Gold, Emma strode through the curtain, stopping short when she got her first good whiff of the odor back there.

"Whoa!" she said, not even trying to hide her grimace. "What is that?"

Gold looked up from his work, brushing what looked like rubber cement onto some woven item. He smiled. "Oh, this is lanolin." He gestured to a small can with the brush. "Used for waterproofing."

Emma took a step back, finally putting a finger on what the smell reminded her of. Once, while doing a stint at a home in Wisconsin, Emma had attended a state fair and right now this room smelled exactly like the over-crowded animal exhibit.

"It smells like livestock."

"Well," Gold said, returning to his work, "it is the reason why sheep's wool repels water."

"It stinks," she said bluntly. The stench overwhelmed the room, not even breathing through her mouth helped. Emma glanced at the door. "Um, if there was a reason you called the Sheriff's Department… If you want to talk about that quickly or outside—"

"Yes." Gold sat back, pulling of his gloves. He rose, his cane barely making a sound against the hardwood floor as he rounded the table and crossed to her. "I just wanted to, uh, express my condolences, really." He leaned heavily on his cane, offering her a sad smile. "The Sheriff was a good man."

Emma swallowed, afraid of reliving that awful night all over again. She had been, every night in her dreams. Wondering what she could have done, if there was anything that would have made a difference. The rational part of her mind knew she bore no guilt whatsoever in Graham's death. And that part of her didn't like talking about Graham, for the very reason that it brought up feelings like these. That part of her liked to say, _I told you so_ , in the small hours of the night.

Gold looked down, pointing at her belt with one bony finger. "You're still wearing the Deputy's badge."

Her hand flew down to the badge, thumb stroking the already familiar leather as Gold look back up at her.

"Well, he's been gone two weeks, now," he said matter-of-factly. "And I believe that after two weeks of acting as Sheriff, the job becomes yours. You'll have to wear the real badge."

"Yeah, I guess," she replied, cringing at how unsure that sounded. Like she was hung up on Graham like some lovesick puppy. "I'm just not in a hurry. So, um, thank you for the kind words."

She cleared her throat as she left the back room, hoping that might clear away the feelings as well.

"I have his things," Gold said, the fabric swishing behind him, closing off the back room and the noxious smell.

Emma froze. "What?"

"The Sheriff." Gold rested his hand on a cardboard box sitting on the counter. A battered brown thing, like something you might find in someone's basement or shoved in a city hall closet. "He rented an apartment that I own. Another reason for my call, really. I wanted to offer you a keepsake."

Emma shook her head. "I don't need anything." The shoelace she tied around her wrist two weeks ago felt heavy, holding her in place even though she wanted to run far from this conversation. Graham was gone. Nothing would change that. Time to move on.

Gold nodded. "As you wish." He glanced down at the box. "I'll give them to Mayor Mills. Seems like she was the closest thing he had to family."

"I'm not sure about that," Emma scoffed.

"No love lost there, I see." Gold chuckled, but his mirth was brief. He flipped the lid off the box. "Look, I feel that all of this stuff is headed for the trash bin. You really should take something. Look—" He grabbed the item on top. An article of clothing Emma recognized very well. He held it out to her. "His jacket."

Emma already knew that was a bad idea. It smelled like aftershave and wood smoke. In other words, like Graham. She was not the type of girl that laid in bed staring at the ceiling while clutching some pointless keepsake. Sentimental girls did that. Emma never had privilege of being sentimental and she was better for it.

"No."

Gold put the jacket aside without comment. "Oh. Well, look…" He dug through the contents with a purpose, plucking out a pair of old, short-range walkie talkies. "Your boy might like these, don't you think? You could play together."

Emma swallowed, Henry had barely said a word to her in the last two weeks. "I don't—"

He cut her off, offering her the radios "No, please. They…They grow up so fast."

Something in the way he looked at her pulled Emma forward, prompting her to pick-up the walkie talkies. They weren't as heavy as she expected.

"Thanks," she said warily.

"You enjoy these with your boy," he said, wagging a finger at the radios, his voice growing even softer. "Your time together is precious, you know?" He smiled tentatively. "That's the thing about children, before you know it, you lose them."

Emma nodded, thanking him again, before gathering the radios into one arm and heading for the door. The bell chimed as she left, the sound cut off abruptly as the door swung shut. She wished she could turn her thoughts off as effectively.

"Everything alright there?"

Emma groaned. She had managed to avoid Killian for the last two weeks, despite Mary Margaret's pestering over him calling Ruby that night. She already thanked him for that, it was over and done with. He was a problem that she did not need right now, she had enough on her plate with being a full-time deputy and dealing with Regina and worrying about Henry.

 _He could help you bear that last burden_ , a traitorous little voice said as she looked from the radios in her hand and straight into the brilliant blues eyes smiling at her.

"Swan?"

Emma's narrowed her eyes. "Are you stalking me?"

"If I were, Swan, I assure you we would meet far more often." He lifted a paper to go cup between their faces, giving her a good look at the 'Storybrooke Coffee' logo before he gestured to the shop across the street. "Small town, remember? I was going out on the boat and I wanted something hot to hold off the chill. It's a bit nippy this late in the year. Granny's had a line." He shrugged. "I don't suppose you'd care to join me?"

Emma expected his trademark smirk, maybe even a suggestive eyebrow or a sway into her personal space. All of which she was so not in the mood for today. Hell, she wasn't in the mood for any of that ever.

His face remained carefully neutral though as he said, "Might help take you mind off things," like he knew exactly what she was going through.

Not that she was going through anything.

And she knew exactly what he meant when he offered to take her mind off things.

"I've got something I need to do," she said, glancing at the walkies again.

Killian chuckled. "I think the town can afford a bit better than second hand equipment."

"They were Graham's," Emma says before she thinks to stop herself. "Gold gave them to me."

Killian's face had softened slightly at the mention of Graham's name—strange that he showed such nostalgia now that Graham was gone—burst into a glower, something almost rabid lighting up his eyes.

"And what price did he want for those?"

Emma took a step back. "Nothing."

Killian snorted. "I've known the—" He stopped, pressing his lips together and taking a deep breath. "I've known that man a long time, Swan, he never gives something for nothing."

"Yeah, well, this time he did. It's not like they were his in the first place." She clutched the walkies a little tighter, for no reason she could discern, like she was afraid he might try to take them from her. "He thought Henry might like them is all. Maybe he was feeling nostalgic, I got the impression that he lost someone."

"His son," Killian said.

"Oh," Emma said. "Well, that explains why he got so sad."

Killian scoffed. "I doubt he's sad about it. He was hardly innocent in the matter." He looked away from Emma, the muscle in his jaw clenching. "It wouldn't take much to be a better parent than he was."

Anger flared up deep inside her. "And what would you know about that?"

"I told you, I've known him a long time. Let's just say, I would have made very different choices." Before Emma could laugh in his face, he stepped in close. "Emma, please listen, no good ever comes of being involved with that man. Stay away from him."

She could have sworn his eyes were burning and she hated what his obvious concern did to her.

"We've already been over this, Hook," she said, feeling like ground the words out. "No part of my life is any of your business."

He took a step away. The anger flashed again and fizzled. "Just be careful. People always end up owing him more than they have to give."

A sharp breeze cut between them and it took every ounce of Emma's willpower not to shiver, but she would not show any kind of weakness with him standing there. His eyes held hers another moment before he turned away, heading down the road. She swallowed pushing away the thoughts about time and regret and all the things Graham's death had her contemplating. She looked down at the walkie talkies, biting her lip.

She couldn't remember the last time she and Henry had a good, quality moment. Not since Graham's death for sure. Regina was keeping him closer than usual it. But it was technically still working hours and Emma knew Henry hated hanging out at the office for hours on end.

Today was quiet, she could afford a bit of a break right now.

Emma got into the squad car, heading for the beach on a hunch.

Sure enough, a familiar figure sat in the wooden playground kicking at the air. Her heart swelled at the sight of him and she realized with a start how much she missed him. And it didn't terrify her. She threw the car into park and grabbed the radios.

Henry either didn't notice or ignored her approach, his head stayed bowed as Emma made her way up the creaking steps.

"Brought you something," she said, placing one of the radios into his lap and sitting next to him. She studied him as he fiddled with the buttons. It felt like ages since he smiled at her. "Thought we could use them together for Operation Cobra."

She thought that would perk him up at least a little, but Henry just stared at the walkie in his hand.

"Thanks," he said.

She bumped her shoulder against his. "Oh, come on! What's up? You've been ducking me for weeks."

Henry bit his lip. "I think we should stop Cobra stuff for a while." He sighed, looking off into the distance. "You don't play with the curse. Look what happened to Graham."

Emma's stomach plummeted. She knew Graham's death hurt him, but he was a kid, kids were supposed to bounce back. For a brief flash, she wondered if he'd been taking this as hard if Killian was a bigger part of his life, but she shook that thought away. Henry did not need that complication in his life right now.

"Henry," Emma said softly. "I told you they did an autopsy. It was totally natural causes."

"Okay, whatever. You don't believe. Good. That should keep you from messing with it." He blinked up at her for just a minute, giving her a clear view of the regret in his eyes. "And getting killed."

Her heart twisted in her chest. He was so young and yet, sometimes it felt like he was the older one. "You're worried about me?"

"She killed Graham because he was good," Henry said, his voice rising. "And you're good."

She wasn't sure whether she should start with the her being good part or the part where none of this was his fault. Maybe she needed to pay a visit to Archie. He'd know what was going on in Henry's head.

She just wanted him to be okay. "Henry…"

"Good loses," he said, those big, green eyes of his never wavering. "Good always loses. Because good has to play fair. Evil doesn't. She's evil." He spoke calmly now, with a defeated tone that sounded painfully familiar. "This is probably best. I don't want to upset her anymore."

He handed back the walkie, swinging his bag over his shoulder as he left.

Emma stared at the black radio for a moment before setting it aside. She watched as he ran across the grass and down the path. A part of her said go after him, walk him home like she used to do before she had a job that kept her busy when he was coming and going from school. How long had it been? Just a few months ago she hadn't even known his name and now…

She missed him.

She straightened, jumping down and scooping up the second walkie. She did have a job to do.

After a quick pit stop at Granny's for some coffee, Emma headed back to the station. Today was quiet so far, might be a good day to get caught up on paperwork.

Or at least that's what she thought until she walked in and saw Graham's badge sitting on the desk.

This wasn't a new development.

It was sitting there when she left for Gold's shop, just like it had for the last two weeks, but Emma couldn't get those words out of her head. She stared at the badge for several minutes. Her keys clinked as she set them down next to her coffee and picked it up. Was it just her, or did this badge feel heavier than the one on her belt right now?

Gold was right. The job was technically all hers now, but could she do it? Could she, Emma Swan, the person who'd barely spent more than a year in any one place, actually be someone the people of Storybrooke could count on? That was a lot of responsibility. She wasn't sure she wanted it that much.

As she stared at Graham's old badge—fighting the lump that rose in her throat—she thought of Henry.

Swallowing, she turned it over, thumbing open the clasp as she pinched her jacket with the other finger.

"Oh, I'm sorry," came a voice from behind her. Regina stood in the doorway, dressed for the weather in a severe black turtleneck dress and gray coat. She pulled one hand out of her pocket, pointing at the badge. "That's not for you."

Emma didn't have the energy to fight her right now, so she kept to the facts. "It's been two weeks. Promotion is automatic. _"_

"Unless the Mayor appoints someone else within the time period," she said with a self-important smile. She stalked past the desk, her tread even as she passed the spot where Emma stood as Graham died. "Which I'm doing today."

The hard metal bit into Emma's palm as she closed her fist around it. "So, who's it going to be?"

"After due reflection, Sidney Glass."

"Sidney from the newspaper?" Her nose scrunched up, the crease at the side of her mouth deepening. She hadn't met Sidney, but she remembered his name. He was the one that wrote the smear article when she first came into town. And she'd read his name more than once while perusing her morning copy of the _Mirror_. "How does that even make sense?

Regina shrugged. "Well, he's covered the Sheriff's Office for as long as anyone can remember."

"And he'll do whatever you want him to." Emma sighed, apparently she was not getting out of this without a fuss. She found she did have some fight in her as Regina crossed her arms, barely containing a smug smile. "You just cannot stand the fact that things have been getting better around here, can you?"

"Better?" Regina's eyes narrowed, a sneer marring her face. "Are you referring to Graham's death as 'better'?"

Emma's heart plummeted to her feet, hearing her words exactly as Regina must have. "No."

"He was a good man, Miss Swan," Regina said, her voice tight. "He made this town safe, and forgive me for saying it, but you have not earned the right to wear his badge."

Dumping the badge back on the desk—the better to resist stabbing Regina in the eye with it—Emma turned back to her, shoulders thrown back, head held high.

"Graham picked me…" she said, pausing just long enough before clarifying, "to be Deputy."

Regina didn't miss a beat. "He was wrong."

"No." Emma pushed her jacket back, propping her hands on her hips, refusing to yield. "He knew what he was doing. He freed this office from your leash. You're not getting it back."

"Actually, I just did." She didn't hold back the smile this time. "Miss Swan, you're fired."

Emma was still processing the way those words made her go cold all over as Regina stepped forward, snatched up the badge, and stalked out of the room.

# # #

Two hours, half a glass of whiskey, and one broken toaster later, Emma's blood was still boiling. The loud rock music blaring from her iPod probably wasn't helping her calm down, but calming down was the furthest thing from her mind right now. She slammed a toaster against the counter, trying to get the levers to unstick. A pointless endeavor, considering she mangled the outer casing while trying to get it off and pretty much demolished the electrical cord as well—which was why she felt completely safe digging into the toaster with a butter knife again.

Her music cut off suddenly.

Mary Margaret watched her with an expression that was too neutral for disinterest.

"Toaster broken?" she asked.

Emma sighed. "It wasn't when I started with it. Pretty sure it is now." She tried again with the knife, almost stabbing herself in the eye when it slipped against the smooth metal. "Just needed to hit something."

Mary Margaret set her bag of groceries down on the counter, eying Emma warily. "What's going on?"

"Regina fired me so she could put one of her own puppets in as Sheriff." A good, solid glare was the only facial expression Emma had any interest in making right now, so she glared at Mary Margaret and hoped her friend understood it wasn't anything personal. "It's _my_ job."

"I never heard you so passionate about it before. What happened?" Mary Margaret started unloading her groceries, pulling out gross things like vegetables and those muffins she liked with organic blueberries.

"I don't know, I just…" Emma gave a particularly vicious stab at the toaster, feeling vindication at the chink metal made on metal. "I know I want it back."

Her roommate rocked back on her heels. "There must be a reason."

Emma slumped against the counter at the knock on the door, she really wasn't in the mood for any guests right now.

"Maybe I just want to beat her," she said, going answer the door, knife still in one hand and the toaster a solid edge pressed into her hip.

Mr. Gold stood on the other side, a massive binder under one arm. He gave her his signature, polite not smile. "Good evening, Miss Swan. Sorry for the intrusion. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Emma looked back at Mary Margaret, hoping she had a reasonable excuse to turn Gold away.

"I'll let you two talk," her traitor roommate said, retreating so quickly you'd think the kitchen was on fire.

Emma sighed.

"Come on in," she said, realizing after the fact that she was brandishing the butter knife in the poor man's face.

"Thank you," Gold said. "I, uh… I heard about what happened. Such an injustice."

Emma shrugged, deciding she needed to put the toaster down. "Yeah, well, what's done is done."

"Spoken like a true fighter." A slight note of reproof rang in his voice, making Emma regret inviting him in even more.

"I don't know what chance I have," she said, throwing the knife down next to the toaster. "She's Mayor and I'm, well, me." Because she had yet to hit her quota for the day, she shrugged again and propped her hands on her hips.

"Miss Swan, two people with a common goal can accomplish many things," he said, condescension still coloring his voice. His hair flipped back from his face as he turned to her. "Two people with a common enemy can accomplish even more. How would you like a benefactor?" He smiled again, a sly thing this time, his gold tooth winking at her.

"A benefactor?" She was pretty sure the only time anyone talked about benefactors was in one of those boring ass Dickens novels. She wasn't exactly some ragged street urchin running around the back alleys—not anymore at least—so she wasn't sure how a benefactor would help in this situation.

"You mind?" He gestured to the table, the creases in his forehead deepening with his quizzical glance. When Emma made no objection, he pulled back one of the chairs, sitting as Emma did. "You know, it really is quite shocking how few people study the town charter." He settled into his seat, hooking his cane on the edge of the table before holding the book up for her perusal.

She wasn't impressed. She never got much help from big books with pristine white pages. "The town charter?"

"Well, it's quite comprehensive. And the Mayor's authority?" He leaned forward, his weight on both hands as he let the sentence hang between them. Sitting back, he flipped the binder up, the pages rustling as he turned them quickly. "Well, maybe she's not quite as powerful as she seems." He landed on whatever he was looking for so quickly, it felt like he might have rehearsed this, especially when he added, "Aha!" He spun the book around, tapping a paragraph as he slid it toward Emma. "Take a look at that."

Feeling even less confident about this whole exchange, she grasped the book, pulling it toward her and putting her finger next to the section Gold indicated. She read over it. She read over it again. There were a lot of words in that small paragraph, a lot of jargon and legalese, but she thought she got the gist.

She looked up at Gold, eyebrows shooting up. "She doesn't get to decide who is sheriff."

He laced his fingers together, his grin widening. "It appears not, Ms. Swan. I assume you know what you need to do now?"

# # #

Emma arrived at the mayor's office bright and early the next day, her red jacket a comforting weight on her shoulders. She had debated going with something a little less…vibrant, but decided against it. She needed her armor today, more than ever. The office was pretty empty this early morning, or at least, it seemed until she heard the murmur of voices coming from Regina's office, most of them covered by the clear, confident delivery echoing through the frosted glass.

It sounded like she got here just in time.

Emma seized the handle, pushing the door open just as Regina declared, "Please welcome your new Sheriff!"

"Hang on a second," she interrupted, her voice muffled by the crowd of reporters. She stood a little straighter as every eye turned on her.

Regina froze, her hands hovering over her stooge's lapel, and turned to Emma. "Oh, Miss Swan, this is not appropriate." She shook her head, disappointed rather than angry, a mask for the reporters most likely.

"The only thing not appropriate is this ceremony." Emma cut through the crowd, holding Regina's gaze the entire time and putting some swagger in her step. She stopped directly in front of Regina, hands going behind her back. "She does not have the power to appoint him."

Regina gave her a patronizing look, also addressing the crowd without looking at them. "The town charter clearly states '…the Mayor shall appoint—'"

"A candidate," Emma cut in. "You could appoint a candidate. It calls for an election."

"The term 'candidate' is applied loosely," Regina said, fiddling with the badge in her hand.

"No, it's not." Emma dropped her voice, pissed at Regina's exploitation of the system. "It requires a vote. And guess what, Madam Mayor? I'm running."

For a moment, it looked like Regina might argue. Instead, she smiled. "Fine. So is Sidney."

"I am?" the man that must be Sidney said. He was older, with deep lines carved into his dark skin, especially around his eyes and mouth and curling hair nearly the same color as his gray business suit. Everything about him was understated and controlled, even down to the navy tie—a safe choice if Emma ever saw one. Yeah, he looked exactly like the type cut out to be sheriff.

Regina turned around and a look passed between them.

Sidney lifted his chin, speaking with confidence this time. "I am."

"With my full support," Regina said, a broad smile stretched across her face and forced brightness in her voice. "I guess we'll learn a little something about the will of the people."

"I guess we will," Emma said, spinning on her heel and striding right past all those nosy journalists with their flashing cameras.

And then Emma went home and pulled a Mary Margaret—as in cleaning the entire apartment from top to bottom because she was currently jobless and her current career plan ruled out getting blackout drunk. And she figured damaging one appliance this week was enough. She was pretty sure Mary Margaret would kick her out if she started on the electric tea kettle or the blender. She had her head in the fridge and half the vegetables on the counter when the phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Throwing the sponge in the drawer she was cleaning—penance for the toaster—Emma grabbed the phone from its cradle.

"Yeah?" she asked a little harshly.

"Hey, Emma?" a vaguely familiar voice said.

"Speaking."

"It's Ruby." There was a pause. "Um, look, nothing urgent, but you might want to get down to the diner."

"Something wrong?" Emma asked, suddenly intrigued. Was someone causing trouble? Storybrooke was technically without a sheriff, maybe Ruby didn't know who else to call.

"Possibly," she said. "Look, just, Henry's here and I think you want to talk to him, okay?"

The other line clicked, leaving Emma staring at her phone. "Well, that was cryptic and unhelpful." She shoved her phone into her back pocket, leaving the vegetables where they were as she donned her jacket and headed out the door. Ruby was right about one thing, she did want to talk to Henry.

She jogged all the way to the diner, half afraid her kid's sixth sense would kick in and teleport him away before she got there.

At the door, she paused, taking a deep breath so it didn't seem like she had rushed here to see him. The better to play the cool adult. The door opened and shut with the usual jingle of the bell, Ruby pausing as she cleaned a table to smile at Emma and nod toward the booths. Emma had spotted him already, hunched over the table and reading a newspaper.

She plopped down next to Henry, bumping him with her shoulder. "How was school?"

"Okay." He shifted away from her slightly, eye glued to the paper.

Emma sighed, praying for patience. If he was this bad now, she couldn't imagine what he'd be like as a teenager. She promptly ignored the part of her that asked if she planned to stick around that long.

"You're reading that paper pretty hard."

"Sidney wrote it." Her son flipped the paper over, sliding the afternoon edition in front of her. Plastered across the front in bold font was 'Ex-jailbird Emma Swan birthed babe behind bars'. "Is it a lie?"

Emma unclenched her jaw. "No."

"I was born in jail?" He looked up at her briefly before going back to making short tears in the edge of a napkin.

Emma swallowed. The answer was technically no. He had been born in a hospital, but her ankle had been cuffed to a bed for the entire excruciating process. In the end, the distinction didn't really matter.

"Yes." She flipped the paper back over, so that her picture wasn't staring back up at them. "These records were supposed to be sealed," she said, but the excuse fell short even on her ears. So much for being the cool adult. "Tell me you're not scarred for life."

"I'm not." He gave her an odd twitch of the lips, somewhere between a smile and grimace. "Well, not by this."

"Good. Then, let's throw this out," she said, folding the paper in half and pressing in a good crease. "And we will get our news from something more reliable. Like the internet."

"This is what I've been trying to tell you," Henry insisted. "Good can't beat evil, because good doesn't do this kind of thing. My mom plays dirty, that's why you can't beat her. Ever."

"I have a new ally," Emma said, glad for the change in subject, even if it was the same old argument. "Mr. Gold said he's going to help."

"Mr. Gold?"

She hadn't thought Henry could look any more angst ridden, but somehow he managed it, small furrows appearing across his brow.

"He's even worse than she is. You already owe him one favor. You don't want to owe him anymore. Don't do this."

Emma looked down at the paper, unable to help skimming over some of the words, names and places jumping out. She sighed, pushing away the unease his sincerity stirred in her gut. She was the adult, he was just a kid with an overactive imagination. Regina could be beaten. Gold could help her. That was the important thing.

"I have to, Henry," Emma said. She put her arm around him, squeezing him close to her. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. I can do this." She waved Ruby over, ordering two hot chocolates with cinnamon.

Nine times out of ten, Emma would have ignored the jingle above the diner door, but something about this time, something about the violence of the bell or the tread of the footsteps that entered pulled her around.

Her stomach plummeted to her feet.

In her anger at Sidney and Regina and her embarrassment at Henry discovering her sordid past, she forgot one very crucial part of the equation.

Killian stared at her, the white visible around the blues of his eyes.

Shit.

"Ruby, throw that on my tab," she said, jumping up from her seat. "Henry, I forgot I have to take care of something." She raced across the diner, reaching Killian before he gathered his wits and hauling him out the diner by his bicep. She got halfway down the walk before he wrenched his arm away from her.

He spun, forcing her to turn back to the diner to face him.

"Bloody hell. It's true, isn't it?"

Emma didn't know how to breathe, let alone answer him.

Anger overtook shock. He stepped closer, leering down at her. "Is that my son?"

"Yes."

His breath expelled in one fast whoosh, hot on her face. The pure, raw expression on his face filled Emma with regret for not telling him the truth the minute she found out he was in Storybrooke.

"Hook—"

"None of my business, eh?" He shoved something—the newspaper—at her, pressing it against her chest. "How the bloody hell can you say that, Swan?"

She grabbed his arm again. "Not here."

He resisted, but she refused to let him go. She had to make sure they were on the same page before he barged into the diner.

"Please, Killian, don't do this here."

For a minute, she thought he was going to do as he damn well pleased anyway. He yanked his arm from her grasp, leaving her fingers stinging, and stalked down the walkway. He paused at the street, turning to her and gesturing to the sidewalk in front of him.

"Shall we?"

# # #

Emma ushered Killian into her apartment, leaving him to close the door.

She stalked straight to the little kitchenette, slapping the newspaper down on the counter. While Killian's anger calmed during the brief walk to the apartment, it seemed Emma's temper had ignited. He sidled up to the bar, pulling out one of the stools and sinking down on it, still a bit light-headed over everything. He had a son.

Bloody hell.

And not just that. It was Henry.

Of all the children in the world, it was Henry.

Gods, he hadn't been remotely prepared for this. He still felt the cold pit in his stomach from when he first saw the headline, the almost relief when the article mentioned another man, short-lived though it was. Before he finished the article he knew the numbers didn't add up. He knew the truth. Regina's fingerprints ran all over it and she wanted the whole town to know that Emma had already been with child when she took up with this Neal. She wanted to tarnish Emma's reputation.

He meant to confront Emma when he followed her into the diner, but Henry turned around and all he could see were Emma's eyes staring back at him. He should have known. How could he not have known? He was Henry's father...how could he have missed that for nine years? Perhaps it was a sign that he was doomed to repeat past mistakes…

Two solid thunks startled Killian out of his downward spiral. Emma stood on the other side of the bar, a bottle of whiskey in her hand. She poured several fingers worth of the drink into the glass tumbler in front of him, before helping herself to a slightly less generous amount.

"You look like you could use one of these," she said grimly. "I know I needed one."

Killian took a sip, letting the burn of the whiskey ground him. "How long have you known?" He narrowed his eyes. "He's why you came to Storybrooke, isn't he?"

She shook her head, a smile ghosting across her face. "He found me, actually. And dragged me all the way back here." She braced her palms against the counter, her drink remaining untouched. "But I did stay for him."

He drank again, a more generous amount than the last sip. "And you didn't think I deserved to know?"

"No." Her gaze held steady.

He slammed his glass down, the stool clattering behind him as his temper surged back. "He's my son, Swan. I bloody well deserved to know."

"You left," she spat. "You don't get to be angry."

Her gaze drilled into him, too bright, too intense, and he looked away, unprepared to see the full extent of the damage he wrought.

"I am so sorry," he breathed. "You have to believe me. I never would have left had I known." The minute the words left his mouth, he knew they were all wrong. The tension in the air wound tighter. "Emma…"

"So you'd stay for him," she said, her voice low, "but not for me?"

"No, love, that's not…" He sighed, fingers pressed to his forehead, the counter taking more than its fair share of his weight. No matter how he turned the situation, he came to the same answer. "I never should have…" And yet, could he really wish away the lad's entire existence simply to ease his own guilt? Braced for the impact, he met her gaze. The truth was written plain on her face. If she hadn't been on her own, Henry would be her son. Their son. "The moment I left, I knew I should have stayed."

"Yeah, you should have." Emma threw back the rest of her drink.

"What are we going to tell Henry?"

Guilt flashed across her face, disappearing beneath a tight-lipped stare. "Nothing."

Blood rushed in his ears. "You are not keeping me from my son."

"You didn't even know you have a son until today!"

"I've known him his entire life." Somewhere over the course of the argument, he rounded the counter, crowding Emma against the fridge and glaring down with a rage that surprised him. He stopped short, unable to walk any further without physically bowling her over. Arms crossed, she held his gaze, refusing to back down. "I am not the kind of man who can walk away from his children as though they mean nothing!"

A hint of surprise flashed in Emma's gaze. She didn't know—he never told her about his father, about being abandoned, even now, three hundred years later the wound bled—but the change in Emma's posture spoke of understanding.

"That isn't what I'm asking, Killian." Without preamble, she pushed him away.

He took a deep breath, shoving down the anger, already embarrassed to have lost his temper with her of all people. "Then what are you asking, Swan?"

"You can still be a part of his life, I'm not saying that has to stop, but he can't know who you are." She held up a hand. "Not yet. I am trying to mend things between him and Regina and suddenly having his dad come out of the woodworks is only going to make that harder. Between that and—and Graham's death, he's got a lot going on right now." She pressed her fingers to her brow. "Please, believe me, he doesn't need anything else to sort through."

The pleading softened the edges of his temper. "You truly think this is best? For now?"

"Yes," Emma said. She leaned across the counter, retrieving their glasses and dumping them in the sink. "And Killian…Don't bring this up with Regina. She barely tolerates me being around."

Killian nodded. "But we will tell both of them eventually?"

"I will tell them when Henry's ready," Emma said, her voice cutting like steel. "And I decide when that is. Got it?"

"Aye," he ground out. _You left_ , he reminded himself, _you can't be surprised at her not trusting you_. "Swan…"

She wouldn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the trail of whiskey leaking down the drain from his glass, her grip on the counter white-knuckled. She didn't want him here, so he stepped away. She sighed, though whether in relief or regret, he wasn't sure. A floorboard creaked under his foot as he turned.

"Where are you going?" Emma asked tightly.

"To think," Killian said, suddenly anxious for the swell of the waves and salt air. He wanted to be out on his boat to ponder, to come to terms with what he had learned. He was a father…and had been for nine years. "Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone."

"Gone?"

"I do my best thinking out at sea," he said with a mischievous grin. "I'd invite you to join me, but I imagine you'd like to have a few words with whoever wrote that article." He paused, grin widening. "Call if you need help hiding the body."

Emma rolled her eyes. "That is not going to help my bid for sheriff."

"Well, you've got my vote, love." He winked as he ducked behind the door.

As soon as the latch clicked, he leaned his head against the wall. Bloody hell. What was he going to do with a son? His hand trembled, his eyes burned. He swallowed hard. He had so much lost time to make up for.

For a moment, he debated running back down to the diner, sitting beside Henry, asking him more about the book. But would the boy seek an explanation for Killian's sudden interest in him? He took a deep breath. No, he needed to find a way to get close to Henry without violating any of Emma's rules. This required thought and finesse.

On the upside, with the amount of time Emma spent with the lad already, perhaps he would kill two birds with one stone.

# # #

Despite the fact that it was after five by the time Emma finished with Killian, the door to the mayor's office stood open, practically inviting her as she stormed in. Regina looked up from her desk, her hand poised in the midst of signing something as Emma stomped over, the newspaper brandished in front of her.

"This is abuse of power," she spat, throwing the newspaper down on the desk. The thwack was not nearly satisfying enough to please her, but it was better than hitting Regina. Again.

Lips pressed tight, Regina flipped a leather binder closed before looking up at Emma coolly. "Oh, I'm sorry. You didn't want people to know you cut his cord with a shiv?" She packed as she spoke, like Emma was hardly worth the interruption of her day.

"I don't care what people know," Emma said, trying to appeal to Regina's maternal side, "but this hurts Henry."

"He would've learned eventually." Regina shoved the binder into her bag, shaking her head slightly. "We all lose our heroes at some point."

Emma gaped at Regina's nonchalance. Sure, she wasn't entirely sure why she came here in the first place. It wasn't like she wanted to attack Regina, but she was hoping to achieve something…a cease fire maybe, she really didn't know. But here Regina was giving a whole new meaning to tough love. No, this wasn't love. This was blindness. Regina was so caught up in their little feud, or whatever, she couldn't see the collateral damage she wrought.

"He doesn't need to lose anything more," she tried again. She followed the mayor out the office door. She didn't remember picking up the newspaper, but the paper crinkled under her fingers. "He's depressed, Madam Mayor. He doesn't have any… Any hope. Don't you see that?"

"He's fine."

"He's not fine," Emma insisted as the lights went down. She slipped past Regina, who held the door for her, the perfect picture of civility even while arguing. Emma started to doubt her previous assessments. How could Regina be so cold when this was Henry they were talking about? "I mean, think about it. Watching his adoptive mother throw a smear campaign against his birth mother? You don't think that would be upsetting?"

Regina shrugged. "All I did was expose him to the truth." She paused, smiling her tight-lipped smile, the fierce cunning in her eyes sending chills down Emma's spine. "I merely gave him forewarning about…events that might come up in the debate."

"Debate?"

Regina nodded. "Yes, Miss Swan, there's a debate."

Emma rolled her eyes as Regina walked away. There really wasn't any way to make this feel more like high school was there? She focused on following Regina's words instead of thinking about how well she had performed in her high school speech classes, which was to say there was a good reason no one ever invited her to join the debate team at any of the high schools she briefly attended.

"You two can talk about jail time and penitentiary healthcare and maybe even your new association with Mr. Gold," Regina threw over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs. The stairway had an odd, dull quality that went along with the bare walls and tarp stuck to the wall with painter's tape. "He's a snake, Miss Swan. You need to be careful who you get into bed with."

"I'm not getting into bed with anyone. I'm just fighting fire with—"

One minute Emma was talking, the next a wave of heat sent her flying back, her ass connecting with landing in way that sent pain jarring up her spine. Her ears rang, the world tilted as she sat up to see the doorway in front of them blocked by tongues of flame. A few steps down, Regina coughed and tugged at a metal ladder that had landed on her. Emma lurched forward, grabbing the thing and helping lift it off of Regina.

She looked forward, looked behind. There were other ways out of the building, ones that didn't require anyone becoming the central act of a circus daredevil act.

She held her hand out to Regina. "Alright, come on—let's go! We got to get out of here."

Regina tried to stand, but collapsed back onto the stairs. "I can't move! You have to get me out. Help me!" Her voice rose at the end, a pitiful whine.

Emma stared at the door, then back down at Regina again. The other woman's eyes filled with fear and suspicion and Emma knew what she must be thinking.

She couldn't carry Regina up the stairs. The only way out was through and Emma didn't owe Regina anything.

* * *

 **Welp, there you go! He knows! Now I guess the big question is...how many more chapters until Henry finds out?**

 **Thank you to everyone who has stuck through this so far, I know I don't have the most consistent update schedule. It's hard, juggling multiple WIPs AND a full length novel. So thank you to all my patient followers.**


	12. Chapter 12

Regina grabbed hold of Emma's arm, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into the red leather.

"You're going to leave me, aren't you?" she accused, face screwed up in outrage.

The sneer nearly convinced Emma to leave Regina sitting in the smoke and heat while she headed out the back way and got help. Regina would be fine up on the landing for a few minutes—she'd probably pass out from smoke inhalation, but Emma preferred her that way. Still, that idea sat like lead in Emma's gut, no matter how much Regina deserved to sweat a little.

Emma wrenched away from Regina's grasp. Taking a deep breath and throwing her arms up against the heat, she plunged through the battered doorway. Smoke swirled around her, stinging her eyes as she scanned the room.

A flash of red.

Emma slammed her elbow through the glass, remembering her jacket after the fact, but by then the glass was shattered and she had her fingers around the fire extinguisher.

She heard Regina struggling as she prepped the extinguisher and pointed it at the flames. White vapor clouded both rooms as Emma stepped through and thrust her hand out. Almost immediately, heat flushed fingers wrapped around her hand and Emma hauled Regina to her feet, ducking under her arm. The mayor leaned on her heavily as they hobbled toward the main door.

Sweet, clean air filled Emma's lungs as they burst through. Covered in ash, she gasped and coughed as light and sound assaulted her. She dimly recognized the click of a camera, followed by more flashing lights.

Immediately, Regina started shouting. "My ankle! Set me down gently!" She struggled against Emma, nearly landing both of them on the ground.

Emma resisted the urge to shove the mayor as she let go. "Seriously? You're complaining about how I saved your life?" She sucked in another stinging breath, ready to continue yelling, but a coughing fit cut her off and it was all she could do to stay upright. Hands braced against her knees, she took slow breaths.

Behind them, the sirens dimmed as an antiquated fire truck drove up.

Regina waved vaguely. "The firemen are here. It's not like we were really in danger."

Emma almost laughed, but her anger won. "Fine. Next time I'll just… I'll just…"

She dismissed Regina with a flick of her wrist, determined to walk away without finishing that thought. This woman was not worth her time or effort.

"Ah, you know what?" Emma said, turning back. "Next time, I'll do the same thing. And the time after that because that is what decent human beings do." She coughed. "That's what good people do." With that she sought out the paramedics and their oxygen tanks, hoping that would stop the world from spinning.

Regina continued yelling, at the firemen, at the photographer, eventually she grabbed a phone from someone and made a call, yelling into the phone too. And then she seemed yelled out, nodding and saying a few more words quietly before hanging up. She coughed, staggering as one of the paramedics tried to corral her over to a spot near Emma. Regina handed the cellphone to the paramedic as she followed meekly, finally exhausted.

Emma hopped off the gurney—she had no desire to be anywhere near Regina right now—handing the oxygen mask to the young man standing nearby.

Regina grabbed her arm. "That was Dr. Hopper," she said, pausing to cough again. "Whoever did this didn't go after Henry. It looks like it was just an accident."

Emma nodded. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. "Thank you."

Regina didn't respond, her fingers gripped around another plastic mask as she breathed deep.

A crowd gathered, clustering around the firemen pulling debris from the wreckage of the hallway. They piled great chunks of wood and plaster on the concrete.

"Hey," a familiar voice called. Mary Margaret stood behind Emma, Ruby next to her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Emma said, her voice coming out rough and spotty. Clearing her throat hurt like hell, but she did it anyway. "Yeah, just smoke."

Mary Margaret nodded. "Let me see if I can find you some water."

She scampered off, leaving Emma in Ruby's care.

"You look like hell," the taller woman declared.

Several more minutes passed before Archie arrived with Henry, who waved at Emma, but obeyed his mother's beckoning. Mary Margaret came back with a bottle of water, handing it to Emma as Archie and Granny joined them. Her roommate waited patiently, shoving her hands into her coat as Emma chugged down half the bottle.

Granny took the bottle when Emma was done. "On the house."

"Did you really rescue Regina?" Mary Margaret asked, an incredulous smile on her face. Beside her, Ruby and Archie leaned a little closer, equally curious expressions on their faces.

"She did!" Henry said, running up beside her. "The fireman said it. They saw it."

"You are a hero." Ruby made it sound like some irrefutable truth and Emma felt a little swell of pride.

She had done that. She had stayed and helped Regina, despite having every reason not to, and that felt good. It made her feel like she deserved a place right alongside Henry's storybook princes and princesses.

Mary Margaret nodded, the little flower on her hat bobbing. "We should see if they have a picture of the rescue."

"We could make campaign posters," Granny said.

"Oh, people would love that!" Archie said as Mary Margaret spun around, his voice trailing off as the group chased after her without so much as a goodbye to Emma.

She laughed at their enthusiasm, touched that they were so invested in helping her beat Sydney. She knelt before Henry, gravel biting through her jeans, and took his hands in hers. His fingers were cold because, of course, he had forgotten his gloves.

"This is how good wins," she told him. "You do something good and people see it, and then they want to help you."

Henry tilted his head, considering her for a moment. "Maybe you're right."

"You see, Henry?" She smiled, gripping his shoulder. Under her hand and all the winter layers, he still felt small and frail despite being taller now that Emma was kneeling. "We don't have to fight dirty."

The sentence fell flat as her eyes landed on the debris. Sitting on top of the splintered door was an odd piece of twisted fabric. The still air stirred a little, a biting breeze sweeping past Emma and on that breeze wafted a familiar smell.

Livestock.

"Hey, you should stay close to your mom, kid," Emma said, squeezing his shoulder. "She was really shaken today."

Henry glanced over to where Regina whispered fiercely at Sydney. "She looks fine."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Henry," she said. "And people like your mom don't like showing weakness, especially with everyone watching."

He didn't roll his eyes and say she was the same, just nodded and ran over to his mom. Regina jumped when Henry took her hand, blinking down with wide, confused eyes. Emma shook her head. How screwed up was their relationship if simple physical affection surprised her?

Then again, who was Emma to talk?

Crouching, she snatched up the coiled fabric. She grimaced at the sheep stench, but it wasn't the smell twisting up her insides as much as the piece of fabric. After assuring herself that everyone else was looking elsewhere, Emma pulled out her phone for a quick Google search.

# # #

Main Street was deserted. Even Granny's sign was off.

Of course it was. Granny was at town hall, trying to find pictures for the campaign. Emma laughed. She should have known better than to think someone actually believed _she_ was capable of something important. She was just a pawn.

"Swan!"

Emma jerked her head up to find Killian jogging toward her, his look of relief half-masked with a joking smile.

She stopped dead in her tracks. "I thought you were going sailing."

He shrugged. "I wasn't far out when I heard the sirens." His trademark smirk spread across his face. "Though, I could have her back out in a jiffy if you need a quick escape." He threw an aimless gesture toward town hall. "That have anything to do with you?"

"Yes," Emma bit out.

Killian's eyebrows shot sky high, but he stepped aside.

"Things with Regina went that well?" His nose wrinkled up as Emma breezed by him. "Swan, why do you smell like a wet sheep?"

"I don't," she spat. "This does." She waved the lanolin soaked cloth in his face. "Lanolin. It's flammable, apparently, and I'm betting Gold knew that."

He jumped from concern to rage in one breath. His hand snapped out in the next, fingers circling her wrist.

"What happened?" he growled. "Are you alright?"

Emma shrugged away from him. "Yeah, fine. Regina got the worst of it."

"Henry?"

"Wasn't even there." Her anger faded at the flash of relief on Killian's face. Though she couldn't explain why, she found herself running through her encounter with Regina and the subsequent explosion. By the time she got to the end of it, he looked gray, but his eyes practically gave off sparks.

"You think he might be coming after you as well, then?" he said, voice strained.

"No, I think he was trying to help me." Her grip on the greasy wool tightened. "He owns half the town already, makes sense he'd grab for more power when the opportunity arose."

And she swallowed his lines like a fool. A small voice whispered that she hadn't detected any lies last night, but that didn't soothe the sting. After all that talk about doing things the right way, she fell in with exactly the kind of people she wanted to avoid becoming.

Killian sucked in a sharp breath. "You're planning to confront him."

"Of course I am," Emma said. "When he I accepted his help this is not what I meant."

"Accepted his help?" Killian tilted his head back, eyes closed. "Swan, tell me you didn't make another deal with him."

"Not a deal," she said. "He offered to help. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even know I could challenge Regina."

"And how were you planning to deal with him?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "But this is not how I'm winning this election. It _can't_ be."

Quiet settled over them, broken only by Killian's measured breathing. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, he looked like his last good night of sleep was a hundred years ago.

He sighed, chest caving. "You can't break a deal with the…pawnbroker."

"It's not a deal." She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her wrist again.

"I'm not going to let you just…"

She snatched her hand away. "You don't get to 'let' me do anything, Hook."

He clenched his jaw. "You're set on confronting him?"

"Well, I can't let him go around blowing up buildings to make me look like a hero."

Killian sighed. "Allow me to go with you, then."

"I don't need…"

"You don't know him like I do," he snapped, his voice echoing down the empty street. He caught himself and took a step back from her, his cheeks burning—though Emma couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. The latter, judging by the look in his eyes, but not directed at her. "You don't know what he's capable of."

"He's not going to hurt me," she countered. "He wants _me_ to be sheriff."

"Emma, please." He cleared his throat. "Please."

Something about the fear in his voice connected deep down in her gut.

"Okay." And without another word, she walked away.

The crunch of his boots joined hers as the only sounds on the street. The sign on Gold's shop was still flipped to OPEN. Emma reached for the doorknob, thought better of it, and whirled on Killian.

"I am…" she paused, searching for the word he had used earlier, "allowing you to come with me. But I am the deputy sheriff. I do the talking. You're just here for back-up if I need it. Which I won't."

Killian nodded, his jaw clenched so tight, she was surprised she didn't hear bone splinter. For one fleeting moment, she questioned the wisdom of bringing him with her, but she still saw the fear in his eyes, heard the way his voice had cracked. None of that had been for show.

"Okay." She inhaled through her nose. "Here goes, then."

The bell chimed as Emma entered. Gold's casual glance up at her sent her blood boiling again. He had been expecting her.

"Miss Swan, what a surprise," he said, in a tone that implied he was anything but. "And Mr… Jones, wasn't it?"

Emma listened for any hint of animosity from Gold, searched his face as he nodded to Killian. For the first time, she wondered if Killian's story might be all one sided. An imagined slight Gold had no knowledge of.

"Aye," Killian said, shutting the door. The bell jangled loudly.

"Loads of visitors today." Gold eyed them distastefully, wiping his hands on the cloth he held. It was the only clean, bright thing in the entire shop. "Do hope you're not going to break my little bell."

"You set the fire," Emma said, holding the fabric in front of her as she advanced on him. There was a slight tug on the back of her jacket. A warning: Keep your distance.

Gold scoffed, returning to buffing his fingernails. "I've been right here, Miss Swan."

Emma shook the stinking mess in her hand. "Take a whiff. It smells like your sheep crap oil." She crossed the rest of the distance, ignoring Killian's presence at her shoulder. "Turns out it's flammable."

"Oh. Are you sure?" Gold leaned back, shifting his weight off of his bad leg. He tilted his head, speaking in a tone normally used on small children. "There's some construction working on at City Hall at the moment. There's loads of flammable solvents used in construction."

"Why did you do it?" Emma demanded.

Gold's eyes flicked over to Killian.

" _If_ I did it," he corrected. Draping his cloth over his arm, he curled his long fingers around the head of his cane. "If I did it, that would be because you cannot win without something big." The floorboards creaked under his uneven tread. "Something like, uh…" He paused before raising his hand with a flourish. "Oh, I don't know. Being the hero in a fire?"

"How could you even know I'd be there at the right time?"

"How would I indeed?" Gold asked, leaning against the counter.

"Perhaps," Killian said, stepping up beside Emma, "the mayor isn't the only one with eyes and ears in this town."

"Or perhaps," Gold drew out with a smirk, though his eyes never left Emma. "I'm just intuitive." His nose wrinkled, his smile turning cold. " _Were_ I involved."

"I could've run and left her there," Emma said.

Killian snorted. "Not the type, love."

She ignored him. "I can't go along with this."

"You just did." The truth in Gold's words sent a chill down Emma's spine. "This is just the price of election, Miss Swan."

"A price I'm not willing to pay," she said, tossing the foul-smelling rag onto Gold's counter. It hit with an unsatisfying plop. "Find another sucker."

"Okay, go ahead, expose me." Gold's relaxed tone pulled at Emma just as surely as Killian's hand, tugging her lightly toward the door. "But if you do, just think about what you'll be exposing and what you'll be walking away from."

Emma swallowed, staring at Gold long and hard before she acquiesced to Killian's gentle urging.

"Oh, yes," Gold called to her back. "And, um… Who you might be disappointing."

Killian's steps faltered, his head snapped around. Something dark and dangerous and frightening flashed in his eyes. Without thinking Emma grabbed his jacket, wrenching the door open and shoving him outside. Cool air—air that didn't smell like barnyard—hit her cheeks, calming her. She didn't bother shutting the door all the way, choosing instead to hustle Killian further down the street.

Killian whirled on her, dragging her into the alley by Gold's shop. Shadows fell over him, only the glint of his bright, blue eyes showing where his face was.

"Why is that…monster threatening my son?" he growled.

"It wasn't a threat, Hook." Emma stepped back, the slats of the wall pressing into her spine as she leaned against it. Bowing her head, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, throwing wild colors across the back of her eyelids. "It was a reminder of why I'm doing this."

"For Henry?"

"Yeah." She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket, the cold metal moving smoothly under her fingers. "I wanted to show him that the good guys don't always lose. That they can win without resorting to the tactics villains use." She threw her hands up in the air. "And now I'm in cahoots with Gold, so that's working out real well."

Killian nodded, kicking at a piece of trash. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Emma said for the second time that night. The words bit. "This is exactly how I didn't want to win, but, I'm going up against Regina. How am I supposed to win against her without some serious back up?"

"You don't need Gold to win against Regina, love," Killian said softly.

"Have you seen this town? No one wins against Regina."

"You will."

Emma wanted to believe him, really she did, but he was hopelessly optimistic if he thought that someone like her could go up against someone like Regina and win. No one would take Emma Swan—the girl with no roots and nothing to her name—seriously. Everyone was too afraid of Regina. Though they were just as afraid of Gold, if the little she'd seen of him was anything to go by.

She shied away from the hand reaching for her. "I'm not sure I can take that chance. This is too important. I—I need to win. Henry needs me to win."

In the cramped alley, Killian was so close she heard him his swallow.

"In this book of the lad's is Gold a hero or a villain?"

Emma shrugged. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do." He pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly. Tension stretched him so taut it was she expected him to shatter as he moved away. With slow, careful steps he backed out of the alley, his eyes on Emma the entire time.

As the street lights fell on him, he looked calm. Too calm. A sudden panic overtook Emma, the flash of rage in his eyes back in the shop harsh and bright in her memory. No matter how much she told herself that this was Killian, something deeper told her the violence she saw in his eyes could have physical consequences.

With deliberation he turned and Emma thought she only half imagined the rip of his gaze leaving hers. She was free. She stumbled to the alley's mouth, ready to call out, to stop him, to tell him not to go back inside that shop, but he passed by the door. He made it the few feet to the corner before he stopped, pausing to uncurl his fist and examine it. The tips of Killian's fingers caught the sparse light, glistening red tinged the nails. Without a backward glance, he smeared his hand down the front of his jeans, and kept walking.

Something inside Emma snapped and she could breathe again. She reached behind her. The rough siding of the shop next to Gold's scratched at her hand as she leaned against it. Her hands shook and she wondered why. Hadn't their fight earlier this afternoon been just as intense? But all that rage hadn't even ruffled her feathers as she glared up at him in Mary Margaret's apartment. If she hadn't been scared earlier, why was she scared now?

The answer didn't take long to piece together. As volatile as their fight had been, Emma knew deep down that Killian would never strike out at her in anger, never seek to harm her.

# # #

To say Killian woke on the wrong side of the bed the next day would imply that he slept at all.

He hadn't.

He lay awake all night trying to find a way to free Emma from Rumplestiltskin's ever tightening leash. No matter how he turned the situation, the only true solution was the Crocodile's death. Regardless of how Emma worded it, she had made a deal. And Killian had witnessed firsthand the price of defying Rumplestiltskin.

His conclusion should have brought him relief, some satisfaction and yet…there was Henry.

True, the lad would be far safer in a world without the Crocodile, but if the man turned up with a dagger in his heart, how long would it be before the authorities tracked Killian down? Two days ago, he could have cared less if he was caught. Now? Whether or not she had evidence, Killian had no doubt that Emma could and would identify the murderer and then she would make sure that Henry never came near him.

He groaned as he rolled out of his bunk. Normally, the gentle rock of the ocean calmed his thoughts. It had no such effect now. He dressed quickly. This election thing apparently involved a gathering of some sort where the two candidates would speak to the masses. He wasn't particularly interested in whatever that Sydney fellow had to say, but he would go if meant supporting Emma.

And he that he might see Henry.

Killian skulked outside the building, watching as men came to hang a sign announcing "Debate here!" across the pale, yellow siding. The sign clashed horribly, too dark and serious for such a cheerful color. Others came as the day started to warm, the sun finally free of the cloud cover. A line started forming, the chatter filling up the still air and making Killian feel odd. They barely noticed him, all of them buzzing with the story of last night's rescue.

Killian's stomach twisted in knots. The Crocodile truly had rigged the game in her favor. Was this part of a plan to break the curse? If he was against the queen, surely it had to be. But how could he be working to break a curse he, by all signs, didn't remember.

"Hey, you're Killian, right?" The spritely brunette appeared at Killian's elbow, heedless of the hook he nearly sent into her heart in shock.

"Aye," he said.

"I'm Mary Margaret, Emma and I are roommates." And then, before Killian could remind her that he knew this fact as he was the one who had called her the night Graham met his unfortunate end, she plunged on, "Did you hear about last night? Well, you must have heard about last night. That was so brave of Emma, I'm honestly not sure if I would have done the same. I think I would have just run…Oh, speaking of which…" She shifted items bundled in her arms, flashing some wicked looking metal object at him. "I want to plaster these all over the town board. Care to help me?"

Killian eyed the implement, unsure as to its purpose, and took the easy way out. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be much use," he said, waving the hook at her.

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Oh…" she murmured without the telltale trace of fear. "I'm so sorry, I didn't even think…Well, you could keep me company if you like." She flashed him a brilliant grin, so like Henry in that moment that Killian couldn't refuse.

"I suppose I could find some way to assist," he said, taking the stack of glossy paper from her as an idea occurred to him.

As it turned out, the contraption was some sort of…nailing device, though the thin slivers of metal left in its wake were considerably smaller than nails, and it required the use of only one hand. Mary Margaret whisked posters from his arms, wielding the thing with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

"You teach at the school if I'm not mistaken?" Killian started.

Mary Margaret nodded. "Yep. I actually teach Henry's class." She pulled the handle, several shocks sending the bits of metal into the corkboard with resounding pops. "He's one of my best students."

Killian grinned at that. An odd sort of pride stirring inside him. "Really? Well, that's to be expected…"

Killian cut the sentence off, regaling the woman with tales of his days at the naval academy would only confuse her and he wasn't sure if Emma had shared Henry's true parentage with the schoolmarm yet.

He blustered on, "Considering how clever his mother is."

Mary Margaret nodded without asking Killian to elaborate on Emma's cleverness, which—as it involved her speed in learning one-handed lock picking—was probably for the best.

"Oh, yes," she said, slapping another poster against the board. "And Regina pushes him hard too." She bit her lip, glancing behind her. "A little too hard if you ask me. No nine-year-old needs perfect grades." Her shoulders bounced up and down in a quick shrug. "Still, I know it comes from a good place. She's been harsh in the past, but up until now it's only been because she wants the best for him."

Killian stepped closer. "What do you mean, up until now?"

If she noticed the tightness in his voice, she didn't show it as she pinned the next flyer, her tongue peeking from between her lips in concentration. It reminded him of Emma.

"You know…This whole feud with Emma, she's so scared about what might happen…I don't think she's thinking of Henry much in all this." She finished, brushing a gloved hand over her handiwork as though her words weren't seeping into Killian's bones. "And she's not handling this stage in Henry's development too well, he's learning that he doesn't need her for everything and with Emma here…" She trailed off, her face thoughtful. "I suppose she's scared and going after Emma makes her feel like she can do something about, I just wish she could see how much this hurts Henry."

"How is he handling it?" Killian asked, following her as he headed for the other side of the board.

Mary Margaret laughed. "Besides the fact that he thinks Regina is some Evil Queen? As well as…oh!" The last was a soft gasp, her hands muffling most of it as she backpedaled quickly. She whirled on Killian, her hands flying to her hat. "Does the hat look, okay?" she hissed. "Or should I take it off? Is it doing weird things to my hair?"

Killian blinked. "It's fine as is."

Mary Margaret nodded, clearing her throat. She spun on her heel, straightening her coat, before marching around to the other side.

Her exclamation of, "David! Hi!" satisfied his curiosity long before he rounded the board.

"Mary Margaret," came the soft reply. "Hi."

David stood just feet from Mary Margaret, several posters clutched in one hand and another of the strange metal guns in his other. He also wore the most ridiculous hat Killian had ever seen, certainly something that would be blackmail worthy when the prince regained his right mind…and his fashion sense. His gentle smile widened when he saw Killian. "And Killian, I didn't know you knew each other."

"We, uh…" Mary Margaret stumbled, her eyes shooting to Killian.

Suddenly, he felt very uncomfortable.

"Mutual acquaintance," he said before the silence could stretch too long. "I know her roommate, Emma."

"Oh." David nodded, smiling. "We have a few mutual acquaintances it seems."

Turning to Killian, Mary Margaret grabbed another poster, taking far less care than she had previously. "So. Sydney," she said as she attacked her poster liberally with the metal gun.

David shrugged. "My wife is friends with Regina."

"Right." Mary Margaret snatched up the last poster. "How is she?"

"Good. She's meeting me here later." David turned that same, gentle smile on the schoolteacher, but she ignored him.

"We're out of posters," she declared. "I'm going to go get some more." She handed Killian the metal gun and rushed off, her shoes crunching briskly over the dry grass.

David sighed, his eyes following her.

"Looks like you've got a mess on your hands, mate," Killian said.

David shrugged. "I'm—well, we're—Kathryn and I are good. I just wish I hadn't…" He ducked his head, the brim of his hat nearly brushing the various notices fluttering on the cork board. "Thank you, by the way," he said, glancing up at Killian. "I was little disoriented that night, so thanks for the advice. It was the right thing to do. There should be more people out there like you."

Killian snorted. "I highly doubt that."

"No, I mean it," David said. "Not many people would have had it in them to look out for a complete stranger."

Killian's cheeks flamed, the praise making him want to squirm as he hadn't since he was a small lad. It was only due to him that David was in this situation in the first place, if he had truly been looking out for the man, he would never have touched that windmill and perhaps Emma would already be reunited with her family.

 _And you would have your revenge_ , whispered a small, bitter voice in the back on his mind. _Or have you forgotten about that?_

He looked away, unable to withstand the earnest admiration in the prince's eyes. All these years, he had never questioned his path. The death and destruction left in the Crocodile's wake had been all the proof he needed that he was on the right path. But now, with Emma's father watching, he wasn't so sure of that anymore. Could it be the right path if it cost him Emma? Cost him his son?

"Looks like I'm out of posters too," David said, still grinning. "I'll see you inside, Killian."

Killian almost followed him. Almost, but he looked up to find Emma striding toward him, looking very official in a tight brown dress and jacket. He tried not to let his eyes linger too long as she approached, but had such a gesture been well-received he certainly would have made a show of it.

"Hey," a small voice whispered, startling him much as the boy's grandmother had mere minutes before. "Can I borrow your staple gun?"

Killian blinked, trying to make sense of Henry's words. The lad pointed emphatically at the metal contraption Mary Margaret had wielded.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said, handing over the staple gun.

"Thanks," his son said.

His son.

He had known... For nearly twenty-four hours he had known who Henry was, but the knowledge suddenly seemed new with the boy standing before him. His throat tightened as he took in the boy's features as though for the first time. His eyes, yes, he had his mother's eyes. But he had Killian's dark hair and mirrors might have been rare when he was a lad, but Killian thought he saw hints of something that reminded him very much of Liam in the boy's round face.

Suddenly, he wished very much that he could show his brother this wonderful, perfect person that was equal parts Emma and himself.

"Oh, wow, I'm not sure which one is more embarrassing," Emma muttered from just off his right.

Killian started, looking quickly away from her so she couldn't see the tears he blinked away. It had been a very long time since he last thought about his brother.

"I made it," Henry was saying when he turned back.

Killian's eyebrows shot up as he beheld the poster Henry had stapled to the board. He had been so taken in with the sight of his son, he had missed the rather comical artwork in the lad's arms. Emma scanned the poster, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"I found the picture online," Henry explained. "I put your face over the fireman's. It looked more…heroic."

Emma swallowed. "Well, I certainly look…brawny."

"Quite the talent," Killian said, tilting his head to admire the lad's work. He recognized the word 'online' from his many trips with Emma to use computers at the library. "I'm impressed."

Henry beamed at him and Killian thought his heart might stop beating.

"Thanks, I was up all night working with Photoshop."

"Henry," Emma scolded.

"Okay, not all night…."

"Henry." Regina's voice cut through the air. "What did I tell you about running off?"

Henry turned back to the board, ripping down the poster he had fastened there and hiding it behind his back with the rest.

"Ms. Swan," Regina said with a tight-lipped smile. "And Mr. Jones. You two are certainly becoming quite the pair."

Emma stiffened, the posters in her hand crinkling in her grasp.

Henry fidgeted, trying to rescue the sheets of paper from her, but only succeeding in knocking them to the ground. Emma sighed, crouching awkwardly to retrieve them without kneeling and dirtying her stockings.

"What's this?" Regina asked, grabbing one of the posters. Her dark eyes flashed as she examined the page, the corners of her mouth turning down. "What a shame," she said, balling the poster in her fist. "A waste of trees and a waste of your time."

Henry glared defiantly up at his mother.

"Oh, I'm not so sure," Killian said. He plucked one of the posters up from the ground, shaking off the dirt. "When I was in…school they used to say that it took ten thousand hours of practice to truly master a subject." He smiled at the mayor as he might a particularly pompous superior officer. Polite. It was certainly better than giving her the lashing he wanted to. No one should speak to his son in such a manner, but Emma had asked he not show his hand and he would hold to that, especially after seeing the cool exchange between Emma and the mayor. "Certainly, practice can never be a waste of time or else we'd have no masters of any craft."

Regina's heated gaze turned on him, her eyes raking him up and down in a cold, calculating fashion.

"I think I know where my son's talents are best spent," she said, her hand shot between him and Henry, taking the boy by the wrist. "Come along, Henry, the debate will be starting soon." She stalked away, calling back one last time, "I'd hurry with those posters, Ms. Swan, it won't do to be late for your own debate."

Emma let out a shaky breath. "Do you see now why I have to win?"

"I imagine so," Killian said, anger still thrumming through his veins. "Whoever decided that she should have a child?"

"The state," Emma said, folding the posters up. "Don't tell Henry. That other picture is bad enough." She unfolded the posters. "He did do a good job though." And then she gently slid the posters into the nearest trash can.

The crowd had thinned, most of the people filing inside to find their seats.

"Why bother winning, Emma?" he asked.

"What?"

"Why not cut our ties to this place, take our son, and go? Isn't that what would be best for Henry?"

"Because that would be kidnapping and it's illegal." She crossed her arms, digging at the ground with her boot as she said, "Not that I haven't thought about it, but…"

Emma sighed.

"It's a good home. Better than any I ever had. He gets three good meals and his own room and more toys than I think any kid would know what to do with. It's just this…fairytale thing that's the problem. I think I'd be frustrated with him too if he thought I was some evil sorceress." Raking her fingers through her hair she looked at him. "You've been here since he came, tell me, before now, before I came, did you ever question it?" She flung her arm toward city hall, her meaning clear.

Killian shook his head. "He's never been lacking, but material comforts don't make up for an absent parent."

Emma scoffed. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't be a good judge of that, considering I never had either." She glanced at the hall again, squaring her shoulders. "I'd better get inside."

"Right."

He followed her, studiously keeping his eyes on her bouncing, blonde curls and not on the curve of her ass in that pencil skirt. He didn't fancy a black eye this early in the morning. For a heart-stopping moment he thought she might have read his thoughts, because she turned on him and odd look on her face.

She clenched her jaw. "That was good, what you said. Regina might not have appreciated it, but I know Henry did."

Killian shrugged. "It was the right thing to do. Words carry quite the weight when you're young, I'd hate for him to doubt himself simply because Regina behaved like some wounded animal."

A fleeting smile crossed Emma's face and she nodded before darting off.

Killian watched her go with a grin on his own face. He certainly hadn't meant to impress Emma when he contradicted Regina, but for the first time since renewing his relationship with her, he felt the flutterings of hope.

When he entered the main room, it had filled quite decently, a good number of the chairs already taken. He crept up the side, ducking away from people's gazes as he searched for a seat. As his gaze passed over the citizens of Storybrooke, he wondered how many of them had stories in Henry's book. Surely not all these people could fit, even in a book as large as his son's. If any of them were even in their true form. The Crocodile had certainly changed between their world and this one.

He spotted an empty chair in the front row, right next to a familiar head of dark hair.

Regina glared at him as he approached, doing his best to look humble and apologetic.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, careful to look at Regina.

"Nope," Henry answered before Regina could say otherwise.

With what he hoped was an uncertain nod, Killian took the seat, crossing his arms so his hook was hidden. No need to remind the queen of his real identity.

The stage creaked, but Kilian could see nothing past the heavy, olive curtains.

Henry leaned over, his green eyes peering up at Killian. "Did you really think I did a good job?"

Killian swallowed, his eyes skating over to Regina. "Well, I'm no judge of such things, but I thought it showed quite the imagination."

The mayor snorted. "He certainly has that in droves."

Killian shrugged. "An imagination is no crime."

Regina turned on him. "Except when you indulge it instead of doing your homework."

Henry ducked his head, his grey and red striped scarf riding up under his ears. "It's the weekend."

"And you'd have enjoyed it all that much more if you didn't have to do your schoolwork tonight." Regina sat back in her chair, hands resting in her lap. She glanced down, her jaw clenching as she sat back up, her back ramrod straight, and refolded her hands in her lap. "Henry, please sit up, I don't pay for your chiropractic care so you can grow up to have a hunch."

Henry huffed, but did as his mother asked.

Out of nothing more than spite, Killian slouched in his chair, wishing the one next to him had been empty, so he could drape his arm insouciantly over the back. The unforgiving plastic bit into the base of his spine, but he refused to change position out of principle.

He threw another look at the curtains, hoping this wouldn't take long. A slight gap had opened at the center and one brilliant, green eye stared out at him. No, not at him, at Henry. Emma pulled back as quickly as she appeared, though Killian didn't have to worry long if it was because she caught him looking. The curtain parted hardly a minute after her retreat, revealing Emma and Sydney seated on opposite sides of the stage, Henry's psychiatrist standing at the podium in the middle.

Sydney sat directly in front of Killian, not seeming to share Regina's preference for proper posture, his legs splayed, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair. Relaxed and saved from sloppiness only by his crisp, gray suit. He glanced once or twice at Regina, but for the most part, stared over the heads of the crowd, detached. There to serve a purpose, not because he believed it.

The podium partially blocked Emma from Killian's view and he had to shift toward Henry to see her. Everything about her was closed off and nervous. Her legs in perfect parallel from knee to ankle. Her shoulders hunched inward. Her laced fingers twisted in her lap as she stared into the crowd, her eyes fixed on one point.

A chill crawled down Killian's spine. Still slouched, he tilted his head, scanning each row until he found Rumplestiltskin.

The speaking device on the podium gave a burst of static, jerking Killian's attention back to the front.

"Yes," Hopper said. "Hello, citizens of Storybrooke." The psychiatrist droned on for several minutes, reminding everyone of the former sheriff's beloved position in the town. Someone in the back scoffed. It sounded like Leroy. The speech was rambling, littered with anecdotes that would have been better put to use at the funeral than at an official town meeting.

Killian almost leaned down to ask Henry who Hopper was in the book, but thought better of it. If Emma was hesitant about the book, he was sure Regina would bristle at the mention. Especially considering that it told the truth about her.

At last, the bespectacled man took a breath, standing a little straighter.

"Tragedy has brought us here, but we are faced with this decision." He paused, his eyes raking the audience. Did his gaze rest on Regina for a moment longer than the rest? "And now, we ask only that you listen with an open mind and to please vote your conscience. So, without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to the candidates—Sidney Glass and Emma Swan. Glass. Swan. Sounds like something that a decorator would make you buy." The joke fell on deaf ears. "Wow, crickets." He gestured behind him, his brief bit of spine deflating. "Okay, uh… Uh, Mr. Glass—your opening statement."

He ceded the podium to the spare man.

Sydney approached, a puppy eager to do his mistress' bidding as he straightened his tie and fiddled with his jacket.

"I just want to say," Sydney said, his fingers curling around the wooden structure as his gaze swept over the crowd, "that if elected, I want to serve as a reflection of the best qualities of Storybrooke." His gaze rested on Regina and Killian looked over to find the woman mouthing the words along with Glass. "Honesty, neighbourliness, and strength." Glass' eyes swept the room one last time as he nodded, a smile plastered across his face. "Thank you."

The room applauded, even Henry making a half-hearted attempt in order to appease his mother, as Hopper approached the podium once again.

He leaned in to announce, "And Emma Swan."

Surprise flickered over Emma's face, but she stood, fidgeting with her dress as she took the podium. Just as Glass had, she gripped either side of the structure. Her knuckles stood out white, her eyes on the wooden surface before her. Killian sat a little straighter, willing her to look in his direction, wishing he could give her some small encouragement. Anything to wipe that uncertain look from her face and show off the determined, capable woman he knew she was.

Unnatural silence filled the room. Every eye trained forward.

"You guys all know I have what they call a, uh…" Emma paused, taking a deep breath. Bright green eyes flashed in his direction for the briefest moment before focusing on the floor. "Troubled past. But, you've been able to overlook it because of the, um…" Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture. "Hero thing."

She took a breath, her lashes fluttering closed for a brief moment. Her grip on the podium tightened, her chest rising in a slow inhale. Killian counted time in heartbeats, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

When she looked up, her gaze landed on Henry.

"But here's the thing, the fire was a setup." Emma's voice rang through the room, crystal clear over the sound of gasps and the creak of chairs. Shoulders thrown back, she addressed the entire room. "Mr. Gold agreed to support me in this race, but I didn't know that that meant he was going to set a fire. I don't have definitive evidence, but I'm sure." Again, she held eye contact with their son. "And the worst part of all this was…" Emma ducked her head, but only for a second. She stood straight, apology written across her features, the rest of the room forgotten. "The worst part of all this is I let you all think it was real. And I can't win that way. I'm sorry."

Killian didn't know how long they sat there, the room hushed. Everyone's attention fixed on Emma, their collective breath seeming to be held in reverence of this moment between mother and son.

A chair creaked so softly Killian might have missed it had there been a single breath of noise. His gut clenched at the first tap of the cane against tile. Killian waited, hand curled into a fist on his thigh, waiting until the rest of the room turned to watch the Crocodile make his slow progress out of the room before he turned that way as well.

The man didn't even look back as he left and that meant one of two things: either he didn't care that Emma had exposed him or he had already determined what to do. The thought made Killian's blood run cold. When he turned back to the podium, he found only Hopper and an uncertain Sydney Glass. The only sign left of Emma was a fluttering curtain.

Killian shot to his feet. Ignoring Regina's questioning stare, he sped down the side, just short of a run. The air was cold and biting as he burst from the hall, harsh on his skin after the warm room packed with people.

The drive outside stood empty save for the lone figure of Rumplestiltskin. The demon threw a careless glance over his shoulder, unconcerned by Killian's abrupt exit from the hall.

Killian knew that this was his opportunity. He could take the Crocodile out once and for all, and if that cost him his relationship with Emma and Henry, wouldn't it be worth the sacrifice? To never have them fall under Rumplestiltskin's threat again?

"Oh, hey."

For the second time that day, Henry took Killian unawares. The lad blinked up at him with wide, green eyes.

"Are you looking for Emma too?" the boy asked, smiling.

"Aye," Killian replied automatically. His mind ground to a halt, his previous thoughts at odds with the memories that Henry's presence dredged up.

"She's probably headed to Granny's," the boy said. "That's where she usually goes when she needs to unwind while it's still daylight." He gestured to the sky, barely starting to pink on the western horizon.

Killian nodded. "Well, then, shall we?" he asked, grasping onto the tenuous control Henry's presence brought.

Henry's shaggy hair fluttered as he shook his head. "I'll meet you there. There's something I've gotta do." He took off, but did an about face almost immediately. "I'm glad you and Emma are friends, I don't think she has many." With a quick grin, he trotted off, his rucksack bouncing against his shoulders.

Killian swallowed, his eyes drawn back to Rumplestiltskin's retreating back.

 _I wanted to show him that the good guys don't always lose,_ Emma's voice whispered in his ear. _That they can win without resorting to the tactics villains use._

Killian was a villain. He made no excuses. Blood clung to his hand, thick and unforgiving. He had cared little about the taint on his soul, barely giving it any heed in his single-minded quest. After all, to kill a monster meant becoming a monster, did it not? What did all those ruined lives matter against the weight of the Crocodile's crimes?

He was a villain, had been a villain for nearly three centuries, and yet, here he was contemplating changing his spots like the proverbial leopard. The thought sat ill in his mind. Not because he saw no value in doing the right thing, as Emma had done, but because changing his ways would mean admitting what he had always known: he had hurt people that did not deserve it. Turning from the Crocodile, trying to use a hero's tactics would mean he could no longer push away the cost of his sins nor their weight on his soul.

But Emma didn't need a villain. They surrounded her. They were set against her. And if being a villain meant being set against Emma Swan… He held his hand before him, his memories reflected in the silver surface of the rings he wore. His trophies. His sins. How often had he stained them red?

He could never be a hero, but perhaps he could learn to use a hero's tactics. Perhaps he could learn to be…better. For Emma. For Henry.

Taking a deep breath, he turned from Rumplstiltskin. The man could live. For now. After all, if Killian allied himself with Emma and Rumplestiltskin was set against Emma, it could only be a matter of time before the Crocodile's reckoning came. And then, Killian would show no mercy. His lips curled into a half smile at the thought.

# # #

"Care for some company?"

Emma groaned, her head sinking to her crossed forearms as Killian slid onto the stool on the other side of her. She did not need to deal with him right now, especially since five minutes she caught herself wishing he would walk in the door.

"Or I could go," he said, standing quickly.

"No," Emma said. "No. You can stay. Just…I don't want to talk about it."

He swiveled on his barstool, facing her for several long moments.

"I can abide by that if you will answer one question for me," he said when she finally acknowledged him.

Emma pressed her lips together, weighing her options. "Fine. One question."

"What changed your mind?"

She fiddled with her glass, swirling the remaining whiskey at the bottom for several long moments before she answered.

"I know I can't beat Regina doing things the right way, but…" She stopped, unsure of whether she wanted to share her backstage revelation. She threw back the rest of her drink, setting it down with a heavy clunk. "Maybe I'm not a hero if I lose, but if I won based on a lie then I'm definitely not a hero and if I'm not a hero, what place do I have in Henry's life?"

Killian didn't reply right away. When curiosity finally forced her to look at him, she found him staring at the floor, the muscles in his jaw tense. She turned away before he could look at her. She shouldn't have said that, not after she had hidden the truth from him for so long.

"Emma." His voice was soft, a plea. He smiled, not his usual smirk, something kinder, something that made her feel like maybe they could do this…thing. That maybe for Henry's sake they could be friends. "You are his mother and you love him. You'll always have a place in his life."

She chuckled darkly. "We'll see how he feels about that when he's sixteen and moody."

Killian snorted. "Let's hope he takes after you in that respect."

"Do you think I did the right thing?"

"Does it matter what I think?" he asked, smiling at Ruby as she wandered over.

Emma shrugged. "Not really."

"Good," Killian said. "It shouldn't."

Emma nodded, but she still felt an air of unease about him. Not quite disapproval, but there was nothing about this situation that he liked. Of course, there wasn't much about this situation that she liked either.

 _But,_ she thought as she circled the rim of the glass with her finger, _I did the right thing._

"Another?" Ruby asked, her long fingers snatching up Emma's glass at the first squeak. At Emma's nod, she turned to Killian, her red streaks catching the light. "Are you joining her? Or did you bring your own?"

He patted his jacket pocket with a rueful smile. "Don't have it on me tonight, I'm afraid."

"So that's a yes," Ruby stated.

"That's a yes." He smiled, his dimples flashing as Ruby rolled her eyes.

For a long moment, the only sound was the clack of her heels against the linoleum, the clink of glasses, and Killian's steady breathing next to her. Before she could ask herself what she was doing here, wonder how he had slipped back into her life, the bells above the door chimed. They all turned to find Henry, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The shades clacked against the glass as he closed the door.

"Henry," she said, a little surprised. And a little nervous. This was the first time the three of them had really been together since Killian found out. Well, besides that morning, and that didn't really count because there had been people all around them… and Regina. "Hey."

Henry apparently didn't pick up on the guilt curling inside of her as he pulled one of Graham's walkie talkies out of his backpack and handed it to her.

"What's this for?" The little black radio felt solid in her hand, significant. Her nerves buzzed even louder, anticipation and dread a strange mixer for the alcohol already in her blood.

"You stood up to Mr. Gold," he said, hopping up onto the stool next to her, looking like a mini business man in his jacket and little grey vest. He smiled. "It's pretty amazing."

Killian chuckled again. "That it certainly is."

Emma silenced him with a look, she did not need both of them ganging up in some sort of "Let's make Emma feel better" pity party.

"He did something illegal," she reminded them both.

Henry grinned all the wider and Emma had the sneaking suspicion that Killian bore the same grin, even if she couldn't see him at the moment. She almost turned around and jabbed him playfully with her elbow, like she might have done in the old days. But she caught herself. That would be too much. That would give him hope and she wasn't going to do that, there were lines and they needed to stay where they were. For Henry's sake.

"That's what heroes do," Henry said, his face thoughtful. His chin dimpled and suddenly, she realized that he must have gotten his serious side from Killian. Or the chin dimple at least. "Expose stuff like that." He started when Ruby came over, sliding glass of lemonade in front of him before she delivered Emma and Killian's drinks. With a wary glance over Emma's shoulder, Henry leaned forward, his voice a low hiss. "I shouldn't have given up on Operation Cobra."

Emma's heart squeezed, Henry's wide eyes overwhelming and heavy. She picked at her fingernails, unsure of whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Henry believed in her again and she hadn't even needed to win the election.

The bell above the door broke the moment as Regina strode in, Sydney hot on her heels, like the good lapdog he was. Though at least he wasn't gloating outright. He regarded her with serious, darks eyes as the pair of them approached.

"I thought I might find you here," Regina said. Her eyebrows shot up when she say Emma's glass and her company. "With a drink. And my son."

The look she gave Henry was tentative and uncertain, and despite everything, Emma felt a little thrill of pride that even when Regina had the upper hand, she still had this. After all, wasn't that what this whole debacle had been about in the first place?

"Come to collect then, I suppose," Killian said with a nod at Henry, his voice low and tight. "Would be poor form if you came to gloat."

"Oh, not at all." Sydney wore a strained smile. "In fact, I think I'll join you."

Emma shot Killian a look, surprised to find him standing, his hook on prominent display on the counter. She stared for a beat, hoping he got the message. _I fight my own battles_. He sat back on his stool, but his hook stayed where it was, close enough for her to see if she looked down.

She turned back to Sydney and Regina, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out their game. Their faces gave very little away, though Sydney still had that pained, but almost pleasant smile on his face. For an odd moment, she thought maybe they were here to offer her the deputy job again. Perhaps Regina got some sick pleasure from the idea of being able to boss Emma around.

Emma leaned against the counter, feigning nonchalance. "Aren't they setting up a back room for the victory party?"

Sidney's smile tightened. "Oh, well, you'll have to tell me what that's like."

Emma stopped breathing, the words feeling stuck in her words.

Regina held out her hand, struggling to rein in her displeasure. "Congratulations…" Carefully, avoiding Emma, she reached forward and set something on the counter. "Sheriff Swan."

Henry gasped. "Wait. What?"

He turned to Emma, like she had answers, but all she could do was shake her head and stare at the six-pointed star.

"Well, look at that," Killian murmured from behind her.

"It was a very close vote," Regina explained, her voice nearly too low to be heard over the chiming of the bell once again and the sudden murmur of voices as people entered the diner. "But people really seem to like the idea of a Sheriff brave enough to stand up to Mr. Gold."

"Are you joking?"

"She doesn't joke," Killian said grimly. He looked nearly as displeased as Regina, the muscle in his jaw practically doing jumping jacks as he turned his best Superman impression on the badge. Thankfully, he was no Kryptonian and the badge remained unmelted.

"You didn't pick a great friend in Mr. Gold, Miss Swan," Regina said.

Emma jumped a little and found the woman leaning uncomfortably close. Regina smiled, almost cruelly, the glint in her eyes vaguely familiar, though Emma couldn't quite place the look.

"But he does make a superlative enemy." The smile widened. "Enjoy that."

The crowd descended on her as soon as Regina walked away, Mary Margaret was the first to rush up and congratulate her. After smothering her in a hug, of course. Ruby came around the bar, darting through the crowd to replace Mary Margaret. And then Granny. Archie. The guy from the pharmacy. Everyone wanting to shake her hand and congratulate her.

Never in her whole life, had she received so much praise from so many people. It felt good. Especially knowing that all of this came from following her gut. No, she amended, catching sight of Archie again. From following her conscience.

"Don't want to lose this," came Killian's voice. He stood behind her again, the badge clasped in his hand. His fingers felt warm and rough against the cold metal as she took the badge from him. He smiled, despite the deepening shadows in his eyes. "You deserve it."

She only noticed that she had been smiling too as her smile fell. "But you don't like it."

"You are clearly the woman for the job," he said shaking his head. "Not many people have the gumption to stand up to that…" Again he paused, probably censoring himself considering Henry's nearby presence. "That man," he finished lamely. Ducking a little so their eyes were level, he asked, "You'll let me know if he causes any trouble."

Emma scoffed. "I think I can handle Gold just fine on my own."

Killian pressed his lips tight, nodding stiffly. "Well, I'd best be off, then. I'll just say good night to Henry."

"Sure, I—" Emma stopped, glancing over to where Henry sat at the counter, his book out once again. Strangely, she didn't feel any resentment toward the storybook this time, she was glad he was reading it. Unsure of what she would say, Emma cut through the crowd, squeezing in behind Henry. Killian followed wordlessly.

Her kid looked up, a grin lighting his face. "I think I've figured out…" He stopped suddenly aware of Killian hovering behind his other shoulder. He slammed the book shut. "Uh. I think I've figured out that I don't really like Rumplestiltskin's story at all."

The look of pride in Killian's eyes struck Emma as strange, but she forged on with her original plan.

"Hey, I was thinking…maybe Operation Cobra doesn't have to be just you and me." Though her eyes were on Henry, she heard Killian suck in a sharp breath.

"It's not," Henry said, lowering his voice. "Ms. Blanchard and Archie know too."

With an apologetic look at Killian, who actually looked kind of amused, Emma leaned in. "I know, but I've been talking with Hook and…he's good, okay? I think you should bring him up to speed on all this when you get a chance."

Henry's brow furrowed, his nose scrunching lopsidedly. "Are you sure?"

Emma met Killian's eyes, hoping he understood how big this was. It wasn't what he wanted, but she wasn't sure she trusted him that much yet. If she could ever trust him that much—although, Henry would have to find out sooner or later—but maybe this could be their compromise.

"Yeah, I'm sure."


End file.
